


and you know, we're on each other's team

by blurryfaced



Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Universe, Androids, Magic, Magic Realism, Multi, Original Character(s), Strong Language, Urban Fantasy, Violence, Water Spirits, Witch Covens, Witches, implied minor character(s) death(s), lapslock, mafia/mob stuff probably, short prompts are what im living off to write this whoops, very possibly other mythical creatures
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-08-09 18:25:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 98,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7812424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blurryfaced/pseuds/blurryfaced
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>it all starts out with an invitation to his own funeral.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i

**Author's Note:**

> i don't know what this is, i'm not going to lie to you. i've sort of entertained the idea for a bit?? i originally kinda had it planned for something more original, not a fandom work, but i couldn't stop thinking about the boys in this situation?? so, you know, it kinda spiralled.
> 
> um, it's very much a 'wing it' situation, so comments and guesses could very well influence it just as much as anything i see elsewhere. relationships are also a very 'wing it' situation. i have a few ideas, but if they'll manage to get written, who knows.
> 
> i'm a lil nervous about writing this based off of real people, so if it sounds a little awkward at first, just give me time to get used to the idea, yeah?? tags will get updated with every chapter, but i can already tell you now that the rating will probably go up due to some violence or something. so, just keep an eye on the tags, skim over them, in case they change and something that upsets you is added??
> 
> feedback will help me a lot!! and i hope you find this enjoyable!!
> 
> —mack

im jaebum likes to think that he has a particularly normal life. university life is stressful and harsh sometimes, and, honestly, he feels like smacking his head repeatedly against a brick wall on more than one occasion. but he knows it will be worth it, that without it he doesn’t really know what he wants to do with his life. he doesn’t have a back-up plan if this backfires. it drives him to move forward even more and work as hard as he possibly can.

and because he likes to think that he has a normal life, he views his small flat as normal, too. it has two small bedrooms, with a nice sized living room that opens into a cosy kitchen, separated only by a counter. it’s never clean. well, okay, that’s a lie. it’s not absolutely filthy, but there’s dust everywhere a lot of the time, forgotten notes and mugs, maybe the odd plate, here and there. he remembers a time, when he first moved in, that he promised himself to keep the entryway clean, shoes tucked away neatly. now, you can’t see the floor.

and because everything is normal, he has a cat that he adores more than anything. she’s called nora and she rules his life. her own cat bed and scratch post she mostly ignores, there are claw marks on the sofa and dining table legs. he can’t be mad at her for long; he tries, really, he does. but she’s precious to him and every time he scolds her somehow he ends up lying on his sofa with her curled up on his stomach, watching some show on tv.

so don’t blame him if his mail tends to get pushed to the side and forgotten for days on end. he just doesn’t have time, when he stumbles in exhausted, food in a plastic bag hanging from his hand most often than not. he can cook, yeah. he’s not completely unhealthy, but sometimes there just isn’t enough energy in him left to put something together.

im jaebum isn’t really one for big surprises. he has no problem following along, playing his part, see everything fall together. but surprises aren’t really something he’s ever liked receiving; mostly because they end up giving him a heart attack and force him to chase whoever it was down while they ran away laughing.

life is normal for im jaebum; friends that annoy him in a good way, rub his back when he’s feeling the pressure, steal his food when there’s no worry of being (actually) decapitated, get drunk with him on weekends, share insecurities within those rare moments at three am in the morning when no-one can sleep; crushes that go well, go horribly or don’t go anywhere; dates that leave him burning up inside or smiling like an idiot; hang-outs with his family that leave him feeling secure and sure that he made a good idea.

life is normal for im jaebum, so the invitation to his own funeral that sits in his pile of unopened mail confuses him.

the envelope it’s in is thick and stiff, and but the writing on it is very neat and tidy. he doesn’t recognise it, but that is definitely his address and name right there, staring up at him from the coffee table. there’s a rip at the edge from where he opened it, frayed and just touching the edge of _jaebum_. the invitation itself is also stiff, and the paper has a texture to it that feels rough and bumpy under his fingertips. it’s short and straightforward, the message;

 **_the im family are sad to announce the passing_ **  
**_of their son im jaebum_ **  
**_on xx/xx/xxxx._ **

**_the funeral will last from 5 th of november to_ **  
**_7 th of november._ **

**_the im family would be grateful if you came to_ **  
**_pay your respects._ **

the first thing he thinks is that it must be a joke. a weird, stupid joke or prank from someone who likes messing with his head. the second thought that appears in his mind is that the invitation looks professional, real, even, as if whoever had decided to play the prank was indeed very invested that he believe it. his third thought is that it’s such a shame, because the date he supposedly died is smudged beyond recognition. the fourth is he’s acutely aware that today is saturday the 7th of november.

but there’s a prickling under his skin that claims his attention; he’s _curious_. he flips the card over and over in his fingers. would someone really go this far to prank him? actually get his funeral invitation printed out _professionally_?

he stares at nora, who’s curled up lazily in the corner of the sofa. he remembers, vaguely, his first roommate that had pleaded for him to keep her off the furniture due to their allergies. they’d left quickly afterwards and he still hasn’t found a reason since to keep her from being comfortable.

the curiosity that is itching under his skin won’t leave.

a quick glance to his watch tells him it’s late afternoon. ten minutes later, he’s dressed and slipping on shoes and a medical mask that hides his lower face easily. a snapback and hood up, he’s locking his door before he can second guess what he’s doing.

his family’s shrine isn’t too far from his home, only a brisk walk in frigid air that bites at what little of his skin is revealed. the sky is white, or a very light grey, he can’t tell. it’s colourless, he thinks. almost at ease in its need to represent the time of year, the air it holds, or maybe that weird feeling that sits at the base of his spine that tells him _this is not a **good idea**_. he shoves his hands in the pockets of his jumper and bunches up his shoulders in an attempt to keep warm. the people about him on the streets don’t pay attention to him, equally as concentrated on fighting the cold or getting to wherever they want to go. he likes that.

the curiosity doesn’t settle when he walks up to the shrine, careful to watch his back just in case someone is still around. the last thing he wants is to find out that it is exactly what he thought; a prank pulled by people with half a brain who don’t really know when too far is too far. luckily, it seems he’s alone. his shoulders are tense, unwilling to unwind. he’s ready to sprint if anyone jumps out at him, tries to scream about his stupidity to believe people would actually believe he _died_.

what he doesn’t expect to see is recently disturbed earth. or a tombstone with his name on it.

he stops a foot from it, staring transfixed at his name, at the soil. goosebumps run up his arms and spread over his shoulders like dancing fingers and he shudders. he’s no longer curious, but instead feels unsettled. unsettled that maybe he has died, maybe there is a body that belongs to him underneath that soil. is he a spirit now? a wandering soul? he doesn’t remember dying; doesn’t remember a situation where he could have died, actually. but maybe that’s part of it, maybe you just never know until you’re guided over.

 eyes darting around again, still reassuring himself he’s alone, he crouches down to touch the soil, to shift it with his fingers. it moves way too easily, as if it had been disrupted that day, and another shudder runs down his spine.

“took you long enough.”

jaebum jumps to his feet, dirty fingers wiped clean on his jeans. eyes wide, he stares at the boy standing between tombstones to his right. he can feel his heart in his throat, beating once, twice, and lets out the loudest exhale, shoulders drooping.

he drags the mask down, tucking it under his chin so he can speak. “tuan mark, that wasn’t funny.”

mark gives him a smile and a shrug, shifting around cold stone. he stops next to jaebum, who can spot the flower patterned combat boots that are scuffed beyond recognition. “I had to get your attention somehow.”

“you—” he stares at him, face falling into an incredulous expression, and jabs a finger at his grave. “ _you_ did this?”

mark nods, pulling at the sleeves of his jumper.

jaebum stares, hand slowly lowering. he groans, tilting his head back and squeezing his eyes shut. the air is even colder along his jaw, as if tiny, sharp teeth are nipping at his skin. his foot shifts against earth and grass and he sighs, letting his head flop forward again. the feeling of this being a prank fills him again and something bitter pulls at his face.

“I had to get your attention somehow,” mark repeats, and he’s watching him. he’s watching him in the way he always has, since they’ve been kids, and it still manages to make his skin crawl. _he knows too much._

“stop that,” he mumbles, looking away from his face, from familiar but grown-up features, and staring at the tomb. it no longer has his name and the earth no longer looks disrupted. it looks years old, but well-tended to. he frowns. “you know, you could have just knocked on my door.”

mark cocks his head, not taking his eyes off jaebum. “I couldn’t, actually.”

“just because we haven’t spoken in years doesn’t mean you can’t just come over.”

“I know.”

jaebum takes a moment to stand back and properly look at mark. now that he openly acknowledges the fact that they haven’t met up in years, he decides it might be time to acknowledge the changes in front of him, too. maybe. he takes one look over messy hair, an oversized pastel jumper and those damned flower combat boots and decides that maybe, just maybe, mark hasn’t really changed.

mark gives him a smile. it’s small and can only really be described as the upturn of the corner of his lips, but it still settles jaebum’s nerves just as much as it used to. falling back into habits is far too easy, he muses.

“I think you’ve got some explaining to do,” he says.

the smile grows. “I do. but not here.”

he only raises an eyebrow. “not here?”

mark reaches out and grasps his sleeve, beginning to drag him towards the edge of the shrine. he falls into step easily beside his childhood friend and pulls his mask back up over his mouth and nose. any warmth he can get is very much appreciated. he really can’t understand how mark seems content in walking around in probably just two layers when he’s wearing three and _freezing_. but that’s mark.

they walk along the pavement in silence, taking lefts and rights, straight ons and crossing roads. it doesn’t take long for jaebum to figure out where they’re going, to remember the path that he used to be so excited to walk down every day. he can spy that soft smile out of the corner of his eye when mark catches onto him taking the lead without instructions.

mark’s house is still the same as always; out of the way, old, tidy in its own chaos (unlike his own) and full of plants. his garden is well-tended, plants well-watered, well-kept; the wood on the porch and stairs is old, stained and scuffed, still the same pale and slightly off-white it had been years before. there’s paint peeling off the walls all over. he reaches out tentatively as he hears keys jingle in mark’s hands, and the sun-bleached paint turns to powder under his touch.

 the wood groans under their feet when they shuffle inside, sounds bouncing off the walls. nobody calls out, mark says nothing as he shoves his socked feet into worn slippers, handing jaebum a pair off-handedly. he raises an eyebrow at the idea that the boy’s parents aren’t home but doesn’t comment. it isn’t too weird, probably. mark’s older now, an adult. his parents could have moved out for all jaebum knows.

they move from the entryway into the living room. plants have ruled the space, the pots they’re sat in nothing compared to the way they spread leaves, branches and flowers all over the available air. it should be suffocating, it really should be, especially with the piles of books, folded clothes, dvds, knickknacks around, but it doesn’t. it feels like a home.

he sits gingerly on the sofa, careful to avoid disrupting any of the piles or plants about. he pulls his hood down, snapback and mask off, and holds them in his lap.

mark sits in front of him, a little to his left, on the coffee table. he holds a small pot of lavender in his own lap. “sorry about the illusion.”

jaebum raises an eyebrow. “thanks.”

“and, again, I couldn’t have gone to your home instead,” mark presses, tilting his head to the side slightly. “it wouldn’t have been safe.”

he snorts before he can stop himself. then, because he might as well continue, he says, “for you or for me?”

“for both of us.”

amusement slips from jaebum’s face and he openly stares at mark. he narrows his eyes slightly, fiddling with the straps of his mask. “what are you hiding?”

“do you remember when I told you?” delicate fingertips run over the rim of the lavender’s pot in gentle strokes.

“of course.”

mark nods along to a silent beat, fingers curling around the pot in a surprisingly intimate hold. “I’m guessing you put two and two together and, um, realised my family isn’t the only family about.” at the incredulous look, he continues, amused. “one of the families around here is really powerful. and one of their members has had something stolen. about a decade ago.”

leaning back, he surveys his friend for a moment. “alright. what does this have to do with me?”

“the family came to look for me,” mark says, toeing at a hole in the carpet with a socked foot. “asked me to help them. they think one of my friends from a decade ago stole it.”

the younger of the two of them runs his fingers through his hair and crosses his arms over his chest, looking a little uneasy. “we were kids. they didn’t let us anywhere _near_ her— they didn’t even let _you_ near her! and you’re one of them!”

“I know.” he uncurls a hand from the pot to tuck his own hair behind his ear, scratching his cheek as he goes. “but you know how it is. they asked me to look into all my friends from a decade ago to find out who has it.”

“I didn’t steal anything from that goddamn woman,” jaebum quickly defends himself, raising his shoulders as his hands aren’t free to do so.

“realistically, none of you could have.”

jaebum frowns, yet again. “so… why are you telling me this stuff, then?”

mark looks amused again. “the family she’s a part of is…. akin to a mafia, if you will. do you really think they’d let you go free if they even _suspected_ you of treason?”

he can’t stop himself. “treason is against a royal family, mark.”

“to them, she is.”

he chooses this moment to rub at his face, pinching the bridge of his nose and giving an angered sigh as a result. he can feel his chest vibrate lazily as his voice clings to the exhale. he’s trying, he really is. he deserves some credit, especially dealing with someone who speaks straight to the point with very few words. after a moment, he looks at mark again.

“let me get this straight,” he says, leaning his elbows on his knees. “you’re telling me that the reason you pulled a joke on me, making me go see my own tomb, was because you had to lure me out of my house, into yours, because there’s some kind of mafia after me?”

mark leans back on his hands, placing the lavender back down beside him. “you make it sound really dumb when you lay it out like that.”

“mark— mark you’re a witch, can’t you just say some spell or something and figure out where her stolen object is?”

the boy folds his legs up onto the table, getting comfortable and ignoring the way the old wooden legs groan as they’re gently shifted. “first of all, I’ll have you know I’m offended by that statement.” jaebum’s surprised laugh makes them both stare at each other for a moment in stunned silence. “and second of all, you know it doesn’t work like that.”

“alright, okay. but that doesn’t explain why you couldn’t have just come to my house.”

“do you want them knowing where you live?”

jaebum rubs at his face again. “this is insane. this is just like some teen novel or something.”

mark grins, properly, for the first time today – all dimples and teeth, crescent moon eyes and scrunched up nose –, and jaebum’s reminded of his sharp teeth for the first time in years. “kind of exciting, isn’t it?”

“you,” he says quickly, pointing a finger at his still grinning friend, “need help.”

the foreigner just laughs, grin wider and full of the same happiness from his youth. he slips off the table, squeezing jaebum’s shoulder as he slips past. “come on. let me offer you something from our kitchen.”

he stands and follows after the host, grumbling to himself about _finally_ being treated like a guest.

it’s an hour later, when they’ve cooked, eaten, cleaned up and chatted about mindless things. the kitchen is slightly less run by plants; there’s more space, more room to breathe, because all of the flowers seem to be hanging from the ceiling instead. the smell is fresh and makes jaebum think of the time he was five, following mark into the forest behind his house.

they talk about university and how their families are, what friends they’ve kept in touch with or lost with time. jabs at each other’s romantic lives pop up, sarcastic comments and lame jokes leaving them gasping for breath and groaning in exasperation. topic upon topic bounce off the walls and make a mess on the counter between them, but it’s easy and comfortable and they slip into what they used to have with so little difficulty jaebum’s surprised.

he spins his empty cup around and around, careful to make sure it doesn’t fall off the island they’re sat at and break. he chooses not to linger on the fact that mark’s answers are precise, never expanding unless he thinks it necessary, and how he seems to do the least amount of talking in the conversation. isn’t important, not really.

“have you met up with anybody else, yet?” he asks after a beat where the cup trips on its spin and almost goes flying into his lap.

mark lowers his own cup and tilts his head. “no.”

“no?”

he offers a one-shouldered shrug. “it seemed easiest to start with you.”

jaebum laughs, despite himself, and looks down at his friend’s hands. the sleeves of his jumper have pulled up, exposing his fingers completely and most of the back of his hands. he finds that his heart warms a little at the intricate tattoos that fill the skin. mark had always wanted to match his garden when he was younger.

when he looks up, he meets dark eyes and feels the grin on his face ease into something more comfortable, lips closing but the curve stays. it’s stubborn and he finds his eyes following its lead when mark smiles back at him.

“so, what is your plan, then??”

it catches the witch a little off-guard, blinking owlishly. he shifts about on his stool and then chooses to gently play with the plotted plant at his elbow. “well, I need to track down all my friends, you know. I don’t think any of them have moved on. I can still _feel_ them, you know?” he leans forward, the few extra inches, in order to grasp jaebum’s hand and begin to play with his fingers. “do you want to come along?”

jaebum watches; he watches cold, thin fingers slide over his, delicate yet simple flowers blooming at the base, so different from his own. mark’s soft. he’s always been soft where jaebum’s been rough. “I don’t see what harm it could do.”

the smile mark gives him, that shows sharp teeth and bright eyes pushed into crescent moons, tells him he just might be wrong.


	2. ii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay!! so, hi. i really didn't expect to write this much this quickly, but now that i'm more comfortable and more confident it flows really easily? not going to lie, comments helped me a lot and so this kind of just... flowed easier than anything i've written in the past.
> 
> this is... i don't even know. the ending to this chapter surprised me with what it decided to be, and i can already tell this is just going to get heavier as time goes on, as more chapters are written. so do expect some conflict in the future!!
> 
> i have also decided to put at the end of chapters the prompts that geared me on or inspired me in some manner to write the chapter. i was originally going to put them up at the beginning but it seemed like too much of a give away. there will also be a link to each prompt, in case anyone is interested in the original/wants to do their own spin on it!!
> 
> i have no idea if updates will always be this regular, but i already have ideas for jinyoung, youngjae and bambam; all i need now is to know how jackson is going to play into this and i can delve even _deeper_ into this weird world i've decided to breathe life into.
> 
> hope you all enjoy!!
> 
> —mack
> 
> pps. **quick note:** large gaps between paragraphs means a skip in time or change on which character i'll be focusing on for the chapter.

jaebum can’t remember the last time he slept at mark’s house. he can’t really remember why they stopped talking, either. it seems weird, now that he considers it as mark lets go of the blow-up mattress, letting it _thump_ loudly on the floor of his bedroom. awkwardness he had almost expected to be necessary is nowhere to be found and it leaves him more confused than he wishes. his childhood best friend is in front of him, acting as if the past decade hadn’t been spent apart, as if they’d just been catching up from the meet-up they’d had last week.

he thinks about the first time he’d slept over. he’d been six, eyes wide and trained on the flower pots and kitchen cutlery that mark’s mum had made dance around the kitchen as she got dinner ready. he’d been eager, happy, in complete awe. him and mark had whispered about it long into the night, confiding in each other. mark had been nervous he’d end up like his sisters, without the same magic that his mother held in her veins.

jaebum had grasped his little hand and told him he believed in him.

he rubs at the back of his neck. he’s hazy as to how he was convinced to sleep over in the first place – whether he even needed any convincing at all, or it was more mark asking upright if he would stay over and him agreeing before his brain filtered _anything_ – but he’s sure it can’t be too bad. not bad enough that he’s actually going to use mark’s window as a way to get out without the boy knowing. it can’t be that bad. it really can’t be. he doesn’t know why he’s still second-guessing.

he’s brought out of his thoughts when something soft but heavy smacks into his face. startled, he steps back and reaches out, feeling cloth against his fingers. he stares down dumbly at the shirt and slacks that are literally falling through his fingers. mark’s laugh follows and he looks up.

“I didn’t think you’d want to sleep in what you’re wearing,” he offers as an explanation. jaebum notices now that his friend has very shamelessly, at some point, changed himself; jeans and those two – probably stupidly thin – layers have been replaced for pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt. his eyes linger on the drawings that continue up from mark’s hands and fingers, spreading across his fore- and upper arm.

it looks like he’s doodled all over his skin.

“you didn’t have to chuck them at me,” he huffs, but reaches for the shirt that has fallen to his feet. by the looks of it, it’ll fit him. maybe a bit too big, but he has a feeling mark owns very few tops that actually fit him properly. “could’ve called my name or something.”

“what’s the fun in that?” mark asks innocently, crawling onto his bed.

jaebum really doesn’t have a reply for his friend, so instead he finds himself standing in a quaint little bathroom getting changed. he takes the time to look around, feeling as if he was stuck in a small, french cottage in the middle of nowhere as he does. there’s a sense of nostalgia that settles at the base of his neck and tingles along the outline of his shoulders. he smiles.

he was right when he’d looked at the clothes; they fit him just right. the slacks might just be a little too short but he’s sleeping in them, under a blanket, so who cares. the t-shirt is good, soft against his skin. it smells like the many plants in mark’s room, filling his lungs with ease. he can already see goosebumps popping up along his flesh already from the temperature, so he quickly yanks his jacket back on and pads back into mark’s room.

it's weird how, when he enters the bedroom and lies on his own bed, after all these years, when mark chooses to greet him with his usual questions, he doesn’t even trip over his feet in surprise.

“do you think people can embody ideas?”

jaebum shifts the pillow he’s been given around, pulling his hood up and zipping up his jacket so he’s comfortable. “what do you mean, embody ideas?”

“well, uh.” mark rolls over, eyes popping over the edge of his bed and gaze at his friend’s face, hair falling forward. the only light offered is dim and yellow, coming from an old lamp on mark’s bedside table. it forces dark but smooth shadows over his face. “some people say that they’ve, um, they’ve met people that make them think of the ocean or an open field or a specific day in autumn doing something specific.”

“do they now?” he crosses his arms over his chest loosely, letting his eyes lid themselves. “this is the first I’m hearing of it.”

“do you think it’s possible, though?”

“it must be, if people can explain someone they’ve met like that.” he rolls his head to the side so he can watch mark better, raising his eyebrows pointedly. “are you sure you’re not talking about authors?”

the foreigner pulls a face, now laying in such a way that jaebum can see his hole face hanging over the edge of his bed. one of his hands curls around his blanket under his chin, shoulders hunching forward. “you used to say youngjae reminded you of the sun.”

there’s warmth flowing through his body at the name. it lingers in his fingertips and along his ribs, but it’s holding hands with something that dampens the warmth and makes his features twitch. “I never said he _was_ the sun.”

mark’s watching him knowingly. “you did, though. you were sure he was a ray of sunshine that had crash-landed onto earth.”

the tips of jaebum’s ears flush and he stubbornly looks away, arms tightening over their chest. “I was nine.”

“kids are often the best at getting the truth out of. they don’t have a filter.”

“shut up.”

the dangerous smile from the kitchen is back, but it disappears when mark rolls over onto his bed properly. he stretches, there’s a bit of fuss, and then he’s under the covers of his bed and the light’s off. the two of them lay in silence for a while, jaebum deciding to follow mark’s lead and get under his own cover, yanking his hoodie off and instead pulling the blankets up under his chin.

in the time it takes for him to get used to the darkness, he notices that the room isn’t pitch black. he doesn’t think it ever was, when he’d slept over in his youth, but he can’t put his finger on it. instead, he chooses to observe the way everything… changes.

nothing moves. or, at least, he assumes nothing does. everything has a glow to it, from the moon peeking through the holes in the curtain. it feels ethereal, to be here. the room isn’t huge to begin with, and the way that mark has pushed his stuff in, makes it feel crowded and cluttered. the only available space of clean floor is now overtaken by jaebum’s mattress. he wonders if he should feel like he’s intruding on something that doesn’t need him. but it never comes.

because the light from the moon gives everything a shine that makes it feel like it _knows_. he doesn’t know what they know, doesn’t know if he’s being delusional. because inanimate objects don’t have minds, hearts, feelings. they can’t know, they can’t be aware of their surroundings. but there’s a pressure, something that pushes down on his shoulders when he first steps into this house, that seeps through his pores and squeezes in between his ribs, making itself at home. it’s the feeling he gets when mark looks at him like he knows everything.

chewing on the edge of his tongue, he rolls over onto his side, facing his friend’s bed. he wets his lips, running his teeth over dry skin. he needs a distraction. “what’s the plan for tomorrow?”

rustling fills the silence before mark answers. “figuring out who to visit first, really.” he pauses, more rustling and jaebum can hear the smile in his voice. “maybe we should go visit youngjae now that I know you’re coming along.”

the groan that falls from the younger one’s lips makes mark laugh, a happy and carefree sound. jaebum can’t really be mad at him. it’s impossible. “I hate you.”

“you wish you could.”

“can we just go to sleep?”

“you’re the one that wanted to talk.”

jaebum huffs and rolls over onto his other side, effectively giving mark and mark’s bed his back. he relaxes into the mattress soon after as the sound of crickets from outside slowly seeps into the room. he should probably feel something, that he’s in a house that isn’t his own, falling asleep in a bed that isn’t his, with a distinct lack of nora curling up against him. but again, that feeling of nostalgia settles in his core, hugging it out with that _knowing_ feeling, and he smiles as he sleeps.

 

 

 

 

waking up is normal. it takes you a few seconds to realise you are indeed awake, keeping your eyes closed and trying to convince yourself that you can sleep a little longer, that you’re still comfortable, that whatever woke you up to isn’t necessary. the battle is lost – always – and you stretch as if you’re a cat, willing for your back to pop so you can drag yourself to the kitchen or bathroom in order to start your day.

there’s a routine to waking up. everyone has something different; immediately going to the bathroom, staring up at the ceiling as they contemplate life, scrolling through social media on their phone of tablet, answering messages sent through from the night before. a normal routine, that hardly ever gets broken. but as jaebum’s beginning to learn; his life isn’t normal any more. which means his morning’s aren’t normal any more, starting today.

and it starts with mark yelling at the ceiling.

“would you shut _the fuck_ up!?” jaebum screams at his friend, rolling onto his back from where he had shoved his face into his pillow.

mark’s eyes are wide and his lips parted when he whips his head over to stare at his friend. anticipation is practically rolling off him in waves, dripping from his bed and filling up jaebum’s space. he doesn’t even know what’s going on, doesn’t have the urge to ask because mark’s staring at him like he should _know_. there’s a pause, jaebum’s sure he can see mark’s chest rise and fall as if he’s breathing hard, and then there’s the distinct sound of footsteps above them.

“what the fuck– _don’t step on me!_ ”

if anybody questions him afterwards, jaebum would deny squawking like a parrot as mark clambers over him, stepping on his thigh and narrowly missing his precious, tender anatomy, scrambling out the door and down the hall. reluctantly, the Korean man kicks off his sheets, grabbing his hoodie from the floor and yanking it on as he follows at a more reasonable pace. it still doesn’t stop the fact that his blankets have caught around his feet and he very almost smashes his face into the side of mark’s dresser.

mark’s standing in the doorway to the bathroom, looking up at the ceiling as if he’s a child waiting for santa clause. there’s a hatch in the ceiling that’s opening on its own, the ladder that leads up to the attic slowly and gently unfolding itself. jaebum doesn’t miss the warm glow surrounding the inanimate objects and his heart skips a beat. the same warm glow is gently emitting from mark’s tanned skin.

“get down here!” mark shouts, taking a small step forward and trying to spy through the hole in the ceiling. he curls his fingers around the edges of the ladder, leaning against the wood. “we’ve already found you out!”

“I’m at 97%!”

jaebum almost trips despite the fact that he’s standing still. _a voice just answered his friend. a voice he **knows**._ he doesn’t have much time to think, this time being the one to scramble forward as mark begins to climb enthusiastically. again, he doesn’t squawk his friend’s name as he follows after him, barely missing getting kicked in the face.

the attic isn’t as dark as he thinks it would have been. there are several small windows dotted here and there, letting in a few rays of the rising sun – _is it really **that** early!?_ – that allow him to see where he’s going. it’s cramped and dusty and, realistically, he shouldn’t be surprised, but there’s still something there that makes him think it should have been different. so much for not having expectations about a person.

he spies mark’s head and stumbles over, still half-asleep with gunk clinging to the corners of his eyes. he reaches out blindly for mark’s shirt when he’s near enough, more for dramatic effect than anything else, and yanks the man towards him protectively. his hold on the collar of his friend’s shirt stays strong even when he feels his back against his chest.

mark tilts his head, looking up at jaebum with wide eyes. he expects him to look scared or wary, but the smile on his face makes him question the foreigner’s sanity for the nth time. it really throws him off, and the sleep that is making his brain still slow doesn’t understand what a filter is.

“what?”

mark smiles wider and eases off jaebum’s hold. those fingers are immediately back, trying to get hold, but the witch is quick and slips through a thin gap between two towering piles of… he’s not sure what the hell the tuan’s have locked up here, and a small part of him thinks it’s probably better if he doesn’t know.

“mark– mark, _wait_!” he follows after the foreigner, not bothering to keep his voice down. he knocks into piles and boxes but tries his best to keep them from toppling over with nervous hands and short shoves. the attic isn’t big, and soon enough they’re at the other side staring at the far wall.

he thinks it’s been strategically placed, most probably. it’s the only wall that isn’t dotted with windows, allowing a large shadow to cover it. but from the shadow, out pokes a slippered foot, shin clad in denim and rolled up at the hem to show white socks. his brain is dizzy as he stares, recognising the style quicker than he would have liked. even though he recognised the foot, recognised the voice, he wishes it isn’t him.

he only just got used to mark’s presence again, for fuck’s sake.

so when he sees glowing eyes staring at them, two pinpricks of light in the shadow, he closes his eyes and forcibly breathes through his nose, rolling his shoulders in an effort to smooth the tense line they’ve created.

“yugyeom-ah!” mark yells excitedly, grin wide on his face. he’s hopping from one foot to the other, almost as if he’s running in place.

the foot retracts from the light and there’s the sound of material rubbing against material. the outline of a very familiar person steps into the light – the very person he didn’t want to see, he muses–, a cord being held gingerly in their hands. there’s a tentative smile on their face, and jaebum feels a twinge in his chest again. he should probably get checked out. he’s only in his twenties, he’s too young for a heart condition.

“yugyeomie!” mark runs at the new face and jumps, laughing as kim yugyeom in turn screams and drops the cable to catch the older man with ease.

“yah, I told you I’m only at 97%, hyung!” he whines, juggling the weight of mark until he stands straight, pouting. mark has his arms around yugyeom’s neck and his legs around the boy’s hips, ankles locked together.

“hi, jaebum-hyung,” yugyeom greets with a small, fond smile.

jaebum settles for nodding. suddenly, his mouth is way too dry and his palms feel sweaty. yes, his life is definitely not normal any more.

 

 

 

 

“you haven’t changed.”

yugyeom looks over at him in surprise, eyes wide and blinking at him from behind his fringe that clings to his lashes. “I don’t really have the option to age, hyung.”

they’ve moved down from the attic, mark leading the way while clinging to yugyeom’s arm. the three of them are curled up in mark’s room, on mark’s bed, after they’d ventured down to the kitchen and gathered armfuls of foods to eat for breakfast. jaebum watched his friends during the whole ordeal and had come to the conclusion that it isn’t only him that gets sucked back into routine with mark. it also makes him wonder if he’s the only one who’s drifted.

“it’s unnerving,” he mumbles, fiddling with the packet in his lap.

there’s a quirk to the boy’s lips. “because I stay the same and yet you’ve grown up in the past decade? you thought I was really cool when you were younger.” an elbow knocks into him.

jaebum sends him a look. “I was a _child_ – why does everyone hold everything I said against me!?”

mark laughs from his position across from him, mouth full of some kind of cereal bar and it’s not a nice sight. a second too late, he’s covering his mouth with his hand out of curtesy, or maybe because he’s begun choking from the faces both his guests pulled.

“you haven’t really changed, either,” mark says when he’s calmed down, eyes glassy from tears. “you were just more open when you were younger.”

he hangs his head and shakes it. “please, don’t keep reminding me of embarrassing things I used to say.”

“where’s the fun in that?” mark pouts, running his fingers through jaebum’s messy hair until the man tries to bite his fingers off, earning a rather loud yell.

yugyeom leans against his shoulder when he straightens himself up, and he doesn’t bother to try and shove him off for once. his brain offers him a moment, when seven-year-old im jaebum had reached out with grasping hands towards a tall kim yugyeom, begging to be held and only grinning widely when he was perched on the boy’s hip.

the twinge to his heart is back and he swear he’s about to have a heart attack. he breathes a little shakily, because this is the closest he’s been to yugyeom since he was eleven. trying to act like the adult his age dictates he should be, he turns his head to look at the younger boy and raise his eyebrows, waiting.

“how’s your family doing, jaebum?”

it’s such a yugyeom question to ask that he smiles despite himself and lets out a breathy laugh before he updates the boy. his family are doing good, both parents busy but keeping in touch with him; he took nora with him when he moved out; he meets up with them regularly and they all care very deeply for each other. by the end, the three of them are smiling and exchanging stories of their families, which is where jaebum learns that mark’s parents are currently in America visiting his younger brother.

there’s a lull in the conversation after yugyeom answers with small responses to his friend’s questions about his own family. there’s talk of being transferred to another household around the time he stopped babysitting jaebum. the details he shares are few and far between, mark and jaebum exchanging a look when he seems interested in an empty plastic wrapper.

“how long have you been up in mark’s attic, yugyeom?” jaebum questions, frowning at the boy.

yugyeom at least has the decency to look guilty, fingers dropping the plastic and fiddling with a loose thread of his jeans. “a… a few days. I was running low and needed to recharge and it was… it was too easy to get inside, I just…”

“I knew.”

the two of them snap their attention over to mark, mouths open in mid-conversation. mark looks much too smug for their liking, eyes giving away the triumph he feels while his smile tries to deceive them into being innocent.

jaebum grunts, nonplussed. “of course you did.”

“r-really?” yugyeom asks, looking as if he’s been caught doing something illegal; eyes wide and trained on mark’s face, teeth biting into his lip and nails scratching at his skin through denim. he fidgets on the bed, looking resigned and uncomfortable. “mark-hyung, I’m really sorry I didn’t mean to trespass and–”

“I liked having you here,” mark cuts him off, smile never wavering. “take it this way, if I knew you were here the past few days but I didn’t call you out until you were making noise today, what does that tell you?”

“that you’re much too nice to me?”

the eldest laughs, shaking his head. “I was going to go looking for you soon, anyway. you made it easier.”

“hey!” jaebum points an accusatory finger at mark, only retracting it when sharp teeth try and sink into his skin. “you said you went to me first ‘cause it was easiest!”

jaebum will also deny that he pouted that day. mark leans forward to pinch his cheek, cooing through his laughter, which makes him pout more. this whole day is buried so far in denial, he won’t admit it ever happened, years down the line. im jaebum does not squawk like a parrot nor pout like a child. and he, most certainly, does not sulk when he’s jealous.

“I was going to get you first, always.” mark shifts about, leaning his back against the wall. inked arms come up to rest on knees, making all three of them trace different lines woken into his skin. “but gyeom-ah being here made it easier if we didn’t get anywhere in the first few days.”

yugyeom tilts his head, raising his eyes to look at the witch’s face. “this isn’t going to be an easy recruitment that resolves itself in a week, is it?”

jaebum places a hand on yugyeom’s knee and gives it a squeeze. “do you even know what the recruitment is for?”

dark eyes settle on his face, snapping quickly over all of his features. there’s still the hint of that light from earlier in his pupils and it makes the ghost of a shiver run down his spine.

“no.”

 

 

 

 

the day is a little warmer than yesterday, but it still cools jaebum to the bones. somehow, though, he’s ended up giving yugyeom his mask and mark his snapback, leaving him with his hood and nothing else. so to say he’s already grumpy before they’ve even left the house is an understatement. but the idea of having nora wait for him any longer just adds onto the edge. his poor baby girl has been alone since the previous evening, and he wishes to feed her breakfast before they decide to go any further with mark’s plan. the quicker they do this, the quicker they can go on their way. whatever their way may be.

mark and yugyeom, however, seem adamant to take this opportunity to stroll around, gushing about the sights, the weather, and – probably of more concern to _him_ – a certain im jaebum.

“can you guys hurry up?” jaebum does not whine over his shoulder, sinking his hands even further into his pockets.

mark jogs over, he can tell because he’s wearing his flower combat boots again and he spots them marching next to his own shoes, and links his arm through jaebum’s. yugyeom walks a little faster, too, but stays a good couple of feet behind them.

“of course,” he says, the smirk that’s most likely on his face dripping into his voice. “can’t let jaebum’s daughter suffer for too long. she’s probably still sleeping.”

jaebum spins around and pokes yugyeom in the chest, making the boy flail in order to not smack into the other. “nora knows when I’m gone and she misses me. and I swear if she’s upset when I get home I’m hiding your cable for a fortnight.”

yugyeom’s eyes widen comically and he presses a hand over his heart, scandalised. “you wouldn’t _dare_.”

“I would most definitely dare, so just you try me.”

the two of them are standing with their toes pressed together, and jaebum decides to ignore the fact that he _still_ has to tilt his head up in order to glare yugyeom in the eye. it’s just a minor detail that doesn’t need to be pointed out by anyone, least of all yugyeom himself. he spots the knowing glint in the boy’s eyes before he opens his mouth to speak–

“with you two standing there bickering like a married couple she’s going to miss you even more,” mark says, giving the two of them a look with too big eyes. neither of them have ever understood how he manages to do that, how he can look so commanding and soft at the same time. it’s a skill only tuan mark seems to be able to pull off.

he loops his arm through jaebum’s again, sliding his palm down until he can hold his hand and interlink their fingers. his free hand comes to grasp the fabric of jaebum’s jacket’s sleeve and he begins tugging the man backwards.

jaebum sighs sharply through his nose but turns them around and starts walking once more to his apartment. a second later he hears the sound of yugyeom’s footsteps behind them and lets his shoulders droop once more. they’re not in danger, none of them. that feeling he gets in the bottom of his stomach when he knows he needs to be wary, needs to keep a look out while he’s in public just isn’t there. there’s a feeling beneath his skin that makes him wonder if he really should be that worried about a family _akin to a mafia, if he will,_ coming after him because of some stolen property from a decade ago.

there aren’t as many people on the street today, he notices. and it’s nice, because it means he can continue to hold mark’s hand in his, shoving the both of them in his pocket to save them from frigid air, and run his thumb over knuckles he knows has petals place upon them.

whenever they stop at a zebra crossing, waiting patiently for their cue, he can feel yugyeom’s presence behind him. just a gentle reminder; the glimpse of his face out of the corner of his eye, the feeling of a hand ghosting between his shoulder blades or over the small of his back, the feeling of the hair on the back of his neck rising from simply _knowing_ , somehow, that he’s only standing two inches behind him. it’s not worrying. it never has been.

it's a comfort he hasn’t crashed into in years. and he likes it.

they manage to make it to his house without any problems. nora immediately meows at him once he’s through the door, kicking old shoes out the way so he and his guests can kick their own off and step inside. he picks her up and cuddles her close, petting the top of her head gently.

mark coos immediately, scratching her cheeks and under her chin. yugyeom’s enamoured, he’s sure. the boy takes nora from him and immediately delves into petting her and rubbing his face gently in her fur. it’s almost a shame to ruin the moment by sorting out her food, causing her to jump down from the boy’s hold and rush into the kitchen. almost.

“you didn’t seem very surprised when mark told you what was going on,” jaebum comments off-handedly as he puts away nora’s food. “did you suspect something like this would happen?”

yugyeom looks mildly surprised — now — where he is, leaning against the counter, hands splayed on the worktop. “no. but it just didn’t seem very farfetched that mark would get roped into something, being what he is.”

“and that you’d follow suit, being what you are,” mark says, clambering easily onto the countertop to sit beside yugyeom’s hands.

jaebum groans, gesturing with an open hand at his friend. “ _what_ have I told you about sitting all over my furniture?”

“that I need to stop because _tables aren’t chairs, tuan mark_.” the witch decides to pair up his vocal impression with a face and gestures, which has yugyeom (not so) discreetly laughing behind his hand, eyes crinkling into crescent moons.

jaebum’s hand slaps loudly on the kitchen worktop, face anything but amused. “you two are children.”

“then you’re the grandpa!” mark exclaims and smiles brightly at him.

“if you’re the grandpa, does that mean we get to be spoilt?”

“treats everywhere!”

“I really hate you guys.”

mark shifts on the counter top so he’s facing jaebum and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. there’s a shift in his demeanour that captures the younger man’s attention without even trying. when mark wants attention, he never really has to try. “jaebum, look. you need to smile a bit more.”

“smile a bit more?” he raises an eyebrow when the other two nod. “I don’t know if you remember, but apparently we have a mafia family after us for something we didn’t do.”

mark makes an unimpressed sound. “is that really what’s on your mind?”

“you asked me to tag along.”

“you weren’t very bothered about it yesterday.”

jaebum just watches mark, who watches him in turn, in silence. he pushes his weight onto one foot, grinding his teeth together subconsciously until he makes an effort to stop. his jaw aches.

“I wasn’t here yesterday.”

mark and jaebum move their gazes to yugyeom’s face. they’re both surprised, he can tell, but there’s differences in the way they show it. mark’s eyes are a bit wider, eyebrows raised a millimetre or so towards his hairline, mouth open because he forgets to breathe through his nose when something catches him off-guard. jaebum is more controlled, simply choosing to stare dumbly, with an almost impassive face, eyes trained on whatever it is that decided to spring out at him.

“excuse me?” jaebum speaks, pushing himself towards his guests and standing on the other side of the counter, in front of yugyeom. there’s a pull to his lips, a hard sheen to his eyes, that shows his distaste in what is being insinuated.

the boy’s drumming his fingers on the worktop in a display of nervousness. “yesterday, it was just you and mark-hyung. it was easier to think that it wasn’t really a pressing issue, right? it was just two old friends catching up, making plans that probably wouldn’t fall through.”

none of them speak, the silence filled by the sound of nora eating until even she has had enough, brushing past them and jumping up onto a sofa in the living room, happily curling up on the end jaebum normally sits at. jaebum watches her, trying to gather his thoughts, because he hadn’t expected the kid to be so intuitive, to be right.

“he would have had to have come around eventually,” mark says, making jaebum snap his eyes back to yugyeom’s face. “we all know he likes to have everything simple but sometimes life doesn’t work out that way.”

yugyeom’s being stubborn. his face is set in his impassive expression, rather well for a boy who’s normally incredibly transparent, but there’s a tilt to his eyes that makes jaebum start to play with the boy’s fingers.

“look, yugyeom.” when he starts, he isn’t sure where he’s going, just that his mouth is going to take him, all three of them, somewhere – an adventure. “this has very little to do with you popping up out of the blue. I’ve grown up a lot from the last time we met and I like things easy, like mark said. I like my life normal. so this is throwing me out of my element.”

yugyeom’s tentative as he peeks up at jaebum from under his fringe. he lets his hand be played with, even going so much as to turn it over so jaebum’s running his fingertips over the palm of his hand.

“technically, you’ve been out of your element since you met me,” mark muses.

“if there wasn’t the worry that you’d crack your skull open I would shove you off the counter onto your arse right now,” jaebum threatens without missing a beat, eyes sliding to mark’s face.

there’s gasping laughter coming from in front of him, and the witch just grins wide. whatever tension that had been held between them is gone in the blink of an eye, instead replaced with the ease from all those years ago. it’s simple and not complicated and _familiar_.

yugyeom looks caught off-guard when he stands there awkwardly, hovering as jaebum makes them all drinks. it makes him smirk and raise an eyebrow in question. all he gets is a pout in return.

jaebum hands mark his mug, who immediately exits the kitchen, and passes yugyeom his carefully, muttering about the temperature. “how did you manage to find me out, anyway?”

“pure coincidence, really.” mark’s curled himself himself up in the armchair, hunched over and looking more and more like the abstract thought so many people associate him with. “I caught glimpses of you around the city when I was out and about, during the few months leading up to being called out.”

jaebum nods, taking a mouthful of his drink. he follows yugyeom into the living room and sits down next to nora, careful not to disrupt her too much. “doesn’t explain how you knew my address. did you stalk me or something?”

he shakes his head. “mum’s familiar followed you home one day.”

“of course he did.”

the youngest leans back, sinking into the sofa cushions with a fluttering of his eyelashes. it lasts only a second, and soon he’s focused once more on the conversation at hand. “so there’s little hope in finding the rest of our friends in a timely manner?”

“pretty much.”

jaebum exhales loudly through his nose, rubbing at his jaw where it still aches. it does little to nothing, but you can’t blame him for trying. so he knocks his knee against yugyeom’s, leaving their thighs pressed together. “what about you?”

he blinks, rim of his mug resting against his bottom lip. “what about me?”

“how have you been?”

“okay. I’ve been given a lot of upgrades,” he says nonchalantly, eyes moving from his friends to stare at the blank screen of the tv on the opposite side of the coffee table. “jobs kept changing for a while, I’ve done a little bit of everything. some things were more enjoyable than others.”

jaebum nods, thinking nothing of it. sounds like a pretty normal life for a teenager-come-young adult.

mark pipes up, watching them from over his knees. “and how come you ended up in my house?”

yugyeom stars fiddling uncertainly, feet shifting against the floor. he takes two large mouthfuls before replying, adam’s apple bobbing visibly. “my, uh, my master died.”

the two older men freeze where they are. it’s a little comical, because mark’s mouth is open with his mug held aloft, and jaebum was reaching forward to pet nora, who just blinks at him slowly. they both turn their heads at a leisurely pace, eyes pinning him down.

“yugyeom,” mark says slowly. he uncurls himself and places his mug on the coffee table. the softness he normally exudes nowhere in sight. he looks _sharp_. “your master died and you came to _my house_?”

he’s bititng at his lip now, eyes wide. “I-I didn’t know where else to go! nobody came home the next day, I was alone, I—”

“ _you stayed with your dead master for a day before leaving!?_ ”

jaebum takes the cup from yugyeom’s hold, scared that strong fingers will snap it in half. he makes sure to more all three of their mugs into the centre of the coffee table as a precaution, after a second thought, not wishing to deal with broken ceramic and spilt tea. the topic is out of his hands, he knows. this isn’t something he ever fully understood, the underlining of magic and something otherworldly that filtered through in his life; in everybody’s life. he has no input, because he just doesn’t know.

yugyeom pushes himself up fluidly to his feet, moving to pace back and forth behind the sofa. “I couldn’t wait _there_ , mark! I couldn’t! they would have taken me away, or given me to his extended family or— or _something_.” he’s waving his hands about, pulling at his jumper, running his fingers through his fringe and hair, tugging at the strands so hard jaebum winces.

“you know the rules, yugyeom,” mark states, not looking the least bit intimidated. his gaze is harsh, following all the movements as best he can.

“mark, please.” the youngest of them all stops, eyes pleading just as much as his voice when he stares the witch down. “I’m old. I’ve been around for too long. I can tell my master’s family don’t like me. I don’t think they ever did. they’d use his death as a means to get rid of me. to make me… to turn me into parts or… not even that.”

jaebum looks from the boy who’s practically close to tears to the man whose jaw is set dangerously.

“I don’t want to die,” yugyeom whispers.

something pulls inside of jaebum and he’s leaning forward, towards mark, almost pleading just as much. “mark, he’s just a kid, he can’t––”

“stay out of this, jaebum.” the witch doesn’t even look in his direction, gaze pinned on yugyeom.

pursing his lips and locking his jaw, jaebum leans back and changes position so he can see both his friends without strain. he knows mark’s comment is valid, because he’s not a part of this. he’s always been on the side-lines, always the last to know of rules or why someone mythical got in trouble for something. doesn’t make the sting and offense any less, however.

“kim yugyeom,” mark says, now standing. “you have broken rules that were set decades ago, before you even came into existence, set specifically so these situations could be handled efficiently.” he walks around the sofa, stopping in front of the boy. he makes little move to comfort him. “did you even contact any of his family when you found him dead?”

yugyeom’s eyes are glassy when they move from mark’s face to jaebum’s for a single second. he gazes at his feet, head and back bowing. he nods, once.

“who did you try and contact?”

“his wife… but she wouldn’t pick up.” he tilts his head up and looks at mark again. it feels weird, jaebum realises, to know yugyeom’s this close to crying but his eyes aren’t slowly turning red and puffy. “there wasn’t any replies from his daughters either and it must’ve been because they saw it was me calling. I…” he reaches out with a hand, fingers brushing against mark’s, aiming higher and curling around the material of his sleeve tightly. “I tried, hyung. I tried, and I was scared.”

mark’s eyes flicker as he watches the boy’s reaction. he barely reacts to the hand on his sleeve, keeping his ground. jaebum wonders if it’s even a struggle for him. “you do realise that by running away there’s a large chance they’ll blame you for his death.”

yugyeom casts his gaze down again, but refuses to let go of the older man. he slowly nods his head. “I tried to go back, I did. but his family was there and I couldn’t… they wouldn’t have believed me.”

“you’re an outcast.” mark’s voice turns harsh, adult-like in its authority. “you’re lucky he wasn’t particularly well-known, as it’s most likely only his family that will try and figure out where you went.” yugyeom stutters a breath. the look on his face tells jaebum he isn’t sure how mark knows who his master is. “you’re going to be on the run from now on, do you understand?”

“I-I…”

“yugyeom, they think you killed him,” mark says, leaning forward just slightly. “I know how this goes. there have been stories, and there have been situations I’m aware of. people don’t like androids, and they use them to blame for little things. you _know_ this.”

jaebum’s fingers curl into fists and he’s grinding his teeth again. the ease and happiness he’d felt at the prospect of having his best friend back in his life is slowly slipping to form a ball of anger thumping loudly against his ribs. it gets louder when he sees that yugyeom’s begun to cry, tears trailing down his cheeks.

“I-I know,” he says quietly, voice raspy. he tugs on mark’s sleeve. “I know I broke the law, mark, please. you can’t leave me alone, I won’t…. I can’t…”

mark indulges him, finally. the sharpness that had settled around his frame slowly drips away. the curve of his brow is back, eyes sinking into their usual almost unfocused gaze. the curve to his lips starts, the tension in his shoulders slip and he’s burying himself in yugyeom. mark has to stand on his tiptoes in order to make it easier for yugyeom to bury his head into the crook of his shoulder, but he clings on, arms once more around his neck.

jaebum’s not happy. he’s not happy that yugyeom’s in trouble, that he broke the rules, that he’s been mistreated. he’s not happy that mark was stern with him, exascerbated the situation, scolded the boy only to comfort him. he’s not happy that he doesn’t fully understand everything, that he didn’t take an interest into his otherworldly friends enough to look into things, that he doesn’t know how to help.

regardless, he stands. he comes up behind yugyeom, worming one arm around his waist and hooking the other around mark’s shoulder. he presses his face into yugyeom’s shoulder blade and breathes in the scent that is linked to memories with his babysitter; his knees are almost too weak to hold him up.

“we’re not going to leave you,” he breathes and closes his eyes, because yugyeom trembling between them is enough for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [☆](http://writing-prompt-s.tumblr.com/post/147645950191) you shout something at the sky. to your surprise, a voice from above replies.
> 
> [☆](http://writing-prompt-s.tumblr.com/post/148170406575) a little girl suspects that there’s something not quite right about herself. her parents enthusiastically tell her she’s normal. but her brother whispers, “it really isn’t normal to have to be plugged into a wall charger at night.”
> 
> [☆](http://writing-prompt-s.tumblr.com/post/147283634999) when you were young, your babysitter was a robot. she came by three times a week and was really good at crafts, but didn’t like swimming much. it’s been over ten years since you last saw her, and she showed up at your college dorm asking for help. someone’s after her.


	3. iii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> good news!! i've managed to figure out what jackson's going to be, and what his role will be in this fic, so that means that i now have way more control over all of this than before!! i'm even planning ahead as to how he and bambam are going to meet up with the others, despite the fact that i'm not even sure _when_ they're going to be introduced. all i know is that it might be in the next chapter, it might take three more.
> 
> thank you guys for the support!! it really makes my day to read comments and to know that someone is enjoying this. the kudos are such a nice reminder, too, that i have silent readers just as much as active ones!! i just want to point out that even though i am responding to each comment (and plan to for the rest of this work) i appreciate you guys too!!
> 
> okay, so this chapter... i'm not 100% content with the second to last 'scene', if you will. i feel like i could have executed it better, but when i read it over during my proofreading stage, it fit well enough that i decided to leave it practically untouched. i'd like to know what you guys think of it, though!! it'd be interesting to see.
> 
> also because of this chapter, i've changed the rating of the fic to be on the safe side. i'm not entirely sure if it's ready to be _**rated m**_ just yet but there is a large chance that in a few chapters it will be, who knows!! i'm also going to start posting warnings in these little bits here before a chapter so if anyone sees something they can't handle (or even if they want to know where it is in the story so they can skip it) they know not to read or be wary!!
> 
> as always, prompts that helped with the plot are posted and linked at the end of the chapter.
> 
>  **warning(s):** blood, implied (minor) character(s) death(s), vomiting.
> 
> —mack

the next two weeks following that event are stressful, to say the least.

it’s filled with explanations from both mark’s and yugyeom’s ends, filling in the blanks of jaebum’s mind to the point where he can grasp the situation enough to understand just how much trouble the android is in. it all seems irrevocably dumb to him, often times finding himself almost gaping at the young man’s features when he explains what is expected of him, what is _accepted_. there’s one thing he’s more certain of now than ever; the human race is stupid.

mark insists tirelessly for yugyeom to let him dye his hair, pointing out that should they change the almost bright red strands into something more natural, a hue that is far more common in their city; it would be a lot easier for them to move around without worries of the family finding him. eventually, he wears down the two youngsters and takes great pride in doing the dying himself, hooking up his phone via bluetooth to speakers in order to enjoy music as he works. the poor android tries to put his foot down, though, when even jaebum joins in on mark’s comments about his clothing style. unfortunately, yugyeom doesn’t stand a chance.

the arrangement turns into yugyeom staying in mark’s home, using the attic in order to charge and making sure he takes up as little space as possible. the witch has little to none of it, practically forcing his guest to help with cooking, cleaning and taking care of his many plants. it’s during the second week that yugyeom has a heart attack, answering the ringing of the doorbell to find both of mark’s parents standing on the front porch with luggage by their feet, blinking at him with frozen smiles.

apparently, mark finds it only worth mentioning he has a guest staying with him for an undetermined amount of time over dinner, once he’s greeted his parents home. for their credit, mrs. tuan is overjoyed, and begins to coddle yugyeom as if he were her own son, ignoring the nervousness surrounding the boy any time she mentions how he used to be with her child growing up; and mr. tuan does nothing to make yugyeom uncomfortable, relaxed and happily chatting, getting him to help and speaking to him in such a familiar tone the android could cry.

and he does, that night, curling up against mark in mark’s bed.

it’s unsaid during those two weeks that the three of them are on constant vigilance. they’re strung tightly like cords on a violin, just waiting for their bubble to burst. sometimes, they’re not very good at hiding their almost paranoid looks over their shoulder and towards the available exits, having to quickly reassure several concerned citizens that they’re okay and they don’t need help.

reluctantly, yugyeom ends up borrowing a lot of clothes, more so from jaebum than mark; dark colours, snapbacks and medical masks are smothering his body in an attempt to make him blend in more and more. it doesn’t help that whoever first designed yugyeom decided to make him unfairly tall, or give him wide shoulders and a way of standing that almost forced him to naturally look over the heads of people in a crowd and exude a sense of confidence.

and jaebum’s noticing things that feel different. he’s almost certain yugyeom’s skin didn’t used to feel as real as it does now, that there used to be bolts at his joints that would keep the panels of his skin intact. he thinks he can remember the boy’s colour being more artificial, his eyes being glassy because that’s what they were made from, glass. he tries to remember if he made up or not the small air vents on the back of yugyeom’s neck that allowed his machinery cool air to breathe.

it’s unnerving, sometimes. the three of them meet up a lot, scowering the city for any signs of people they recognise from childhood in the hopes of getting the witch’s family – the witch’s _coven_ – off their back. and when they’re standing there, eyes pinned, jaebum finds himself looking at yugyeom more often than not, staring transfixed at the way he can see the boy’s chest rise and fall just as normally as mark’s does. as his does.

he loves yugyeom, he knows he does. has since his childhood. he loves him like he loves mark, like he loved all his friends. it’s that deep set of protection, of affection that drives him forward to drape his leather jacket over the jumper the boy’s already wearing, if only because he _looks_ cold. the familiarity of seeing his eyes turn to crescents when he smiles behind the mask, the teasing and the constant jabs at his lack of enthusiasm or exhaustion when he stumbles home from university and all he can manage is to feed nora.

but dear god, does the boy freak him out sometimes.

however, this is their life now. feet aching and mind’s reeling with the lack of information. jaebum’s just lucky that most of his biggest exams finished the week before mark sought him out. the work he’s getting now is manageable along with the tours around his city and the information he’s been working into his mind reading up on the ‘rules’ put in place for humans and ethereal creatures.

it’s after the two weeks that they begin to relax. the three of them are in a café at the moment, sipping a variety of coffees and eating a variety of baked goods. yugyeom’s shifted from wearing snapbacks and masks to beanies and hoods, feeling more confident that he could show his face without the worry of being found out. it doesn’t ease jaebum’s worries much, but he’s assured by both of his friends that if the family hasn’t made a move in over two weeks, yugyeom’s as safe as anything.

“I still don’t like it,” he grumbles, picking apart his muffin into small mouthfuls to keep his hands busy.

mark hums with both hands curled around his cup as he sips through his straw, quite content. “it’s the way our world works, jaebum-ah. you’ll get used to it.”

“you don’t think it’s a little weird?” he tries, flickering his attention from mark to yugyeom and back again. “the man’s dead and yugyeom’s nowhere to be seen, they think he killed him and they’re not going to hunt him down until they find him?”

dark eyes blink at him and he sighs, impulsively. the witch pushes his fringe behind his ear, several strands stubbornly falling loose and clinging once again to his lashes. “oh, you, uh, you took my words literally, huh.”

the confusion that cupped his cheeks and smoothed its fingers over his forehead and the bridge of his nose must have been more obvious than he was hoping for, because yugyeom actually put down his chocolate milkshake for a second to reply.

“they don’t _actually_ think I killed him. they’d be dumb to do so. they know I’d never do it; although they don’t like me, they know my personality.” he gives jaebum a look, chewing on his own straw. “I’m not a killer. couldn’t be if I tried.”

“but mark–”

“people like to blame androids for things that go wrong, things that don’t normally have explanation,” mark says, monotone. judging by his face, he’s not very impressed. “it used to be god, then my people, then god knows what. now it’s androids. because it’s easy, they’re machines and they can malfunction just as easily as a computer or a tv.”

“yeah,” yugyeom agrees, shooting jaebum a cheeky grin he knows is more for his benefit than anything. “I’m fragile, hyung; please take good care of me.”

the korean man is sure that if he hadn’t just swallowed his piece of muffin, he’d be choking on it now.

mark reaches up, pinching the android’s cheek. with the way his neck is twisted, jaebum spots a small constellation inked into the junction between his neck and his shoulder. he’s sure that’s new. flicking his eyes up, yugyeom’s swatted at mark’s hand and is whining about not being babied _like that_.

the witch laughs, leaning a little over the table as he does so. it’s a nice sight, to be able to watch his friends converse. it’s a different feeling to when him and mark had been younger. they’re more grown-up now, all of them; it’s unexpected but welcome.

invested in his thoughts, he almost misses the hand trying to sneak over to his muffin. the smack is loud and if the other café customers hadn’t been chatting, jaebum’s sure the sound would have travelled across the room.

jaebum doesn’t share his food.

at the same time that yugyeom retracts his hand, a loud pout of his lips as he cradles the injured limb against his chest, a protective arm surrounds his muffin and jaebum glares at him. playfully, mind you. maybe.

“ _hyung_ ,” the boy whines. if he’d been standing, he would’ve draped himself all over the human.

“that’s what you get.” even when mark sends him a look from behind his hair that’s come loose, cheeks filled with his Danish pastry and making him look like a hamster, he doesn’t feel apologetic.

“that hurt,” yugyeom huffs, exaggerating his pout even more with big eyes. he shoves his hand out, much like a prince or princess would to someone of a lesser status, awaiting a kiss. “kiss it better!”

jaebum just stares. “what.”

“kiss it better.”

he shoots a look at mark who nods at yugyeom’s hand. straightening his back a little, his protective barrier around his food slackens. “are you serious.”

the boy’s whimpering like a dog answers his question.

rolling his eyes briefly upwards, praying to god to give him strength, jaebum leans forward over the table.

 

 

 

 

the young man stares down at the gloves he’s contemplating in his lap. he’d been given them as a present a few weeks ago. made of smooth material with soft faux (or so he’d been told) fur inside, they kept his hands nice and warm in the slowly cooling weather. he was grateful for them, even if they had been sprung on him as a surprise. his smile and bright ‘thank you!’ had been met with a very pleased colleague, so he doesn’t feel too bad about taking them.

he looks at the outfit laid out on his bed for this evening. he’s been invited to a new friend’s party, and he’s excited about going. his mother had always worried about him and his social life – after everything else in his life; being the youngest sometimes had its drawbacks. he reassures her every time he can, because he really doesn’t want her worrying over him. it wouldn’t be fair, and it’d be wasted time. he’s happy with his life as it is.

but this opportunity to meet new people and get closer to this possible friend had him buzzing all day. he’d been especially bright at work this morning, earning himself several tips from customers and lovely treatment from his colleagues. surprises like this in his life always seemed to go well, which only makes him more excited.

he places the gloves next to his outfit and moves to the bathroom with light steps. the sound of rushing water fills the tiled walls until he rushes out for his tablet and bluetooth speakers, hooking them up and blasting a beat into the small room. beginning to sway to the beat, he pulls his jumper off, shivering as goosebumps run up his arms.

he’s hesitant to get completely undressed in this weather, but he wants to look nice and smell fresh and feel _clean_ for this party. so he tests the water, waits until it’s almost perfect and strips. by the time he steps inside his shower, drawing the curtain, the warmth from the water spreads from his shoulders and upper back down his spine and around his torso.

an appreciative noise leaves his mouth as he tips his head back, soaking his hair. belting out lyrics in a language he’s still learning, he reaches blindly for the soap and sets about cleaning his body.

 

 

 

 

“you know,” jaebum starts, shifting behind mark to let a lady pass him by on the pavement. “I haven’t had a roommate in a long while. the last one upped and left for reasons I can’t remember.”

mark’s got his _knowing_ look on his face again as he gazes up at jaebum. they’re walking side by side again, with yugyeom a couple of feet behind them, but still within talking range. it’s one thing that jaebum thinks he’ll never get used to, because it feels _weird_. he’s always viewed yugyeom as an equal, so to know that just because the boy is made of machinery he is forced to show several signs of submissiveness makes his skin crawl.

they stop at a zebra crossing, and jaebum shifts so he can look up at yugyeom’s face, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve got a free room, you know.”

yugyeom binks. he flounders for a moment, and settles down when he pushes his hands into the pockets of jaebum’s leather jacket that he was practically forced to wear, the bumps where his hands are giving away the fists they’d formed. “are you inviting me over, hyung?”

the tug on both of their sleeves gathers their attention on mark. the poor witch is trying to yank his two friends onto the road, cars stopped and waiting impatiently. jaebum raises a hand to show his thanks and yugyeom looks sheepish as they dart across.

“if you want your own room and stuff,” jaebum says, looking in the window of a shop with mild interest. he lets his eyes rake over the products on display, fiddling with a ring around his index finger. “I know mark’s place can get cluttered and draining sometimes with all that….” he makes a weird gesture with his hand, which has mark laughing, “energy or whatever you want to call it.”

yugyeom smiles, lips pulling up gently. if he had blood beneath his skin, there would be a very faint rose hue to his cheeks. but it’s yugyeom, and they know him. they don’t need biological reactions to show how he feels. “that would be nice.”

mark shifts, a happy smile of his own on his face, and stands between jaebum and yugyeom. he forces the android forward by pushing his hand into the boy’s pocket and yanking out his own so he can interlock his fingers. jaebum offers his own without a word and feels a happiness shoot through him.

it isn’t the norm, apparently. even when everyone had been young, there had been a nervousness that hung in the air when other people were in the room. a nervousness that revolved around showing affection towards their friends. hugs were okay, they found out. hugs were allowed because that’s what kids did; they hugged a hell of a lot. but whenever jaebum dragged youngjae around by his hand or mark decided that it would be better if he placed himself in jaebum’s lap when they were sat around watching tv or being read a story, looks would be exchanged between their parents.

but this is what their friendship is like.

it’s holding hands and pressing touches against the small of their backs or their forearms. their friendship is based far too much on physical attention – running fingers through hair, slipping arms around waists from behind, pressing kisses to cheeks and necks alike – that it would be painful to stop. the seven of them are close. they just are. it feels, almost, like a second family. a second family that came together by chance.

so jaebum has long since decided he just doesn’t care. why should he care about a society that’s so fucked up it’s practically got its head shoved up its own arse? the warmth and love he feels for his friends blossoms bigger and stronger in his chest when he sees yugyeom fall into step beside them easily and mark swing their hands whenever someone gives them the briefest of disapproving looks.

there are two kids, clinging to their mother’s hands, that are staring at them in awe from the other side of the road. all he does is smile at them, a smile he hopes tells them it’s okay. but knowing his luck, it’s probably more of a smirk.

 

 

 

 

he’s shoved his underwear and jeans on quickly after drying off, fluffy dressing gown immediately pulled on over his outfit. his bedroom is very cold when he steps out of the steamy bathroom, leaving the door wide open so the condensation has time to disappear. he turns down his music as he moves into his bedroom properly, finding himself dancing half-heartedly as he gets ready.

the outfit is simple, mainly because he’s been told that the party itself isn’t anything fancy. the colleague that invited him isn’t stuck up, they’re actually pretty easy going, now that he thinks about it. but still, he wishes to look his best, which is why he made sure to pick the jeans he bought a week ago and wear his coat that always gets him some kind of compliment. he’s proud of himself. his friends say he doesn’t have a good fashion sense but that’s not it; he’s just happy to leave the house looking like he didn’t put an effort into his appearance.

most times he doesn’t.

his dog is barking at him as she scampers into the room when he skids into the view of his open bedroom door. he grins and yells her name, getting her attention immediately. swooping her off the floor, he cuddles her close and dances, spinning until he gets dizzy. pressing a brief kiss to her forehead he places her back on the floor, nodding his head to the beat.

he starts thinking about the party itself. what food would be on offer? what company would he find himself in? he hopes he’ll get along well with the other guests; no matter how many times he’s told by friends and family alike that he just has a natural aura that people can’t seem to dislike, he’s nervous. he enjoys making people happy and really does not like conflict. it makes his skin crawl, likes his insides are trying to escape his body, escape the situation.

while he waits for the bathroom to finish ridding itself of too hot air, he picks up his phone and goes through his messages. the group chat has close to four dozen messages since he checked before his shower, rather tame for the people inside. when he skims through the messages, he realises a few of them are going to go to the party while others were booted off to study or work.

there are a few messages from close friends, making him laugh to the point where his shoulder crashes painfully against the wall in an attempt to keep himself upright. he must thank them, really, he must. the nerves that had been building up along his spine dissipate at the ridiculous selfie that now fills his screen.

he’s very thankful for his friends, he thinks as he moves back into the bathroom. grabbing the comb and hairdryer, he goes to work styling his hair in the way he knows works best. it’s soon soft and fluffy, hanging down over his forehead as it clings to the last bit of dampness in it. he makes an effort to part it on the side, using just the hint of wax on his fingers to shift the tips of his hair so their neatly swooping back behind his ears, showing off the shaved sides.

leaning over the sink a little, he inspects his face in the mirror from varying angles. should he bother with make-up today? a little touch wouldn’t help, and he knows how to make his eyes look _killer_. drumming his fingers on the counter and tapping the tip of his slipper on the floor, he considers it again. tanned, naked fingers reach for his small make-up bag. he doesn’t have the time or patience for gender roles today – as evidenced by several items in his closet, but that’s a thought for another time.

fuck gender roles.

 

 

 

 

the park is deserted around them. it’s the time of day where kids will be at home doing homework or kept close to their parents. it also helps that the park they’ve chosen to wander down isn’t very suitable in this weather, much too cold to enjoy a leisurely walk that normally is craved after during spring and autumn.

they settle on a bench, jaebum using the moments to stretch out his legs and arms in front of him, rolling his shoulder as he relaxes back into the cold wood. yugyeom sits next to him and welcomes mark onto his lap without complaint. the bench isn’t big enough for the three of them, anyway.

“so, what is it exactly that we’re looking for?” yugyeom asks, arms loose around mark’s waist and head cocked.

the witch leans happily against his friend, looking up at the leaves above them. “it’s an item that powerful witches gain over years. it’s how they manage to stay powerful and alive for so long. and a decade ago a powerful witch’s was taken and they’re convinced it’s one of my friends.”

jaebum crosses his arms over his chest loosely. “how does it work?”

“it’s kind of like an oath, I guess?” mark narrows his eyes and brings his shoulders up into a shrug. he starts picking at a zipper on yugyeom’s sleeve. “the best way I can explain it is they make a pact with, uh, with energy that they tie into an object, and as long as that object is close to them, or in a shrine or something, they have all of the power and health that they had at the age when they made the pact.”

yugyeom rests his chin on mark’s shoulder comfortably as jaebum says, “you don’t sound very certain about all this.”

the eldest looks apologetically at him. “it’s not exactly the easiest thing to explain to people who aren’t witches.”

jaebum just sighs through his nose, giving it a rest. he rolls his head back, letting it rest on the back of the bench. “do you know what the object is that we’re looking for then?”

“not in the slightest.”

“you’re very helpful,” jaebum says with no emotion.

yugyeom laughs gently and mark just smiles at him. he looks up at the sky, looking for the paleness poking through the leaves. the transition into winter isn’t an easy thing. he knows trees are supposed to lose all of their foliage, but some of them are stubborn buggers.

“but I know I’ll be able to tell what it is when it’s in front of me,” mark offers in compensation.

yugyeom gives the witch a squeeze and pulls him a little better onto his lap. he wiggles his fingers into mark’s pocket of his jeans and keeps them there, looking at jaebum. “did you ever meet the witch?”

“no,” jaebum says levelly, closing his eyes. “that family didn’t let anyone near her. as far as I’m concerned she doesn’t even really exist.” he sends them both an incredulous look. “mark hasn’t met her. the family doesn’t let her out and about. she’s more a fairytale now at this point.”

the android’s eyes went wide and he looked way more invested in the conversation than a moment ago. “maybe she looks all disgusting and old and frail, and if she went out in public she’d give the children nightmares and cause trouble for people who think they could bully her around.”

mark and jaebum lock mildly concerned gazes.

“maybe you should stay away from those horror games you’re always going on about,” mark says and pats yugyeom’s cheek.

yugyeom looks so let down that jaebum can’t fight the smile on his face. he reaches out and places his hand on the boy’s arm, giving it a squeeze. “think of it this way; since you’re tagging along with us you’ll probably be able to see quite a few things that normally are only shown in your games.”

narrowed eyes watch over his face before he huffs, turns and presses his nose against mark’s neck.

it’s no secret that most mythical creatures don’t flaunt their nature. to them everything is ordinary, and they find it very tiring that humans expect them to make big entrances every time they step out of the house. showing off isn’t important to them, because in their minds that isn’t what they are doing. and because they’d lived among themselves for so long, meeting other mythical creatures never left them breathless.

in some countries, humans were still trying to get used to the idea of living among witches, spirits, vampires and everything in between. there were customs they weren’t aware of, or they asked inappropriate things or treated them too much as if they were different that conflict often arose. luckily enough for south korea, it had been quite easy for mythical creatures to be less of a shock and more of a sense of normalcy.

jaebum moves his hand from yugyeom’s arm to mark’s naked knee and feels the coldness of his skin seep through his palm. again, he finds himself wondering how the witch manages to wear a pair of jeans with so many, and so big, holes in the fabric. how does he stay warm?

“this might seem like a dumb question,” he says after a moment, rubbing circles into mark’s inner knee. “but is it really that big of a deal that she’s lost this… thing?”

dark eyes stare at him incredulously, and he doesn’t need yugyeom to turn his head to know the boy is easily pulling the same face in the eldest’s neck. raising his free hand in surrender, he leans back a few inches.

“the pact a witch makes with those energies is a very serious one. it’s one that saps strength from you until you can’t stand on your own without whatever object used is within inches of you.” mark shifts on yugyeom’s lap, wrapping an arm around the android’s shoulders and shifting his head. he plays with the boy’s beanie. “it has just as many drawbacks as it does perks. I’m amazed she’s still alive, after a decade without it.”

“so this isn’t usual?” yugyeom questions, voice muffled by skin until he shifts back and relaxes against wood.

“not in the slightest.”

jaebum rolls his head along his shoulders, wincing when he accidentally pulls a muscle. “would you ever do it?”

“what? the pact?”

“no, stealing something from a witch. yes, the pact!”

mark shakes his head nearly violently. “god, no. it isn’t worth it. I wouldn’t want to condition myself like that if I can help it.”

“you’re that against it?”

“how would you like it to be so vulnerable that you’re practically transferring your life from your own body to some inanimate object that eventually is more alive than you?” he snorts, short and sharp. “no, thank you.”

the sound of sudden footsteps makes them look over, spying a group of young adults wandering towards them. jaebum’s hand stills on mark’s knee and he can see yugyeom tense up, shoulders suddenly a straight line. the three of them are rather far away from the city, at least fifteen minutes if they walk fast. it’s not the same as when they are surrounded by people to when they are here now, alone and without an ease to blend in. they stick out like a sore thumb, just sat amongst nature. if anybody tried anything now, they’d have a better chance of getting away with it.

yugyeom reaches up quickly and shifts his beanie lower down on his face. mark guides him back to where his was before, nose pressed in at the crook of his neck. the witch keeps his eyes on jaebum, swinging his legs a little.

“how was nora this morning?”

“she… she was okay. went out for the first time in a few days,” jaebum answers cautiously. he tries to look more casual, crossing his legs and shoving his free hand in his pocket. “though I think when I get home she’ll probably be the first one through the door.”

mark laughs. it isn’t his natural laugh, because it’s soft and breathy and doesn’t make him rock forward. but the strangers don’t know that. “she never was one for the cold, was she.”

the footsteps get closer and jaebum looks up, watching the group pass. they’re laughing amongst themselves, pushing and shoving playfully. they look younger than he had thought when he’d seen them far away.

“not like you, huh?” he offers with a small grin, giving mark’s knee a deliberate and somewhat showy squeeze.

an embarrassing noise spills from the witch’s lips and he’s quick to lean forward, fighting jaebum’s hand off him. “no, no, no! stop!”

jaebum laughs, genuinely, removing his hand. he quickly clasps one of the eldest’s, rubbing his hand along a small swirl just below the thumb. mark’s eyes are past him but he doesn’t turn, waits for his friend’s body to relax so he can link their hands together and give him a lazy smile.

yugyeom peeks out from mark’s neck a minute later, making sure they are alone. he puffs out air through his lips, making his cheeks resemble those of a hamster. mark rubs the nape of his neck and jaebum searches for his hand with his linked one. somehow, the three of them manage to make a mess of hand holding, but it works.

“it’s getting late,” mark announces loudly, turning off his phone’s screen and pushing it back into his pocket. “we should go home.”

 

 

 

 

the gloves slide on his hands easily as he waves goodbye to his dog, closing the door behind him. he’s triple checked he has his keys before he made to leave, and he does so again, just because he needs to be sure. he’s thankful that his whole outfit is dark so his gloves blend in; jeans, jumper, jacket, hat and scarf. he doesn’t even know what colour the gloves are. he’s been trying to determine it since the day he got them, but every day it seems to change hue.

as he locks the door and slips his keys in the pocket of his jeans, he feels the usual tingling shoot up his arms and cup his elbows. the gloves always make him feel a little off, a little strange. it feels like there’s something pressing at the back of his mind. he doesn’t think much of it, though. he can deal with it. after a while of wearing the gloves, it goes away, anyway. it’s nothing to worry about. it’s never lead to any problems, he’s fine.

he walks down the hall and stairs, humming to himself. his boots thud mutedly and he pulls the door open to his apartment complex. his breath gets caught in his throat and he’s quick to yank his scarf up and over his mouth. his cheeks are soon colouring from the biting cold that tickles them.

the bus stop isn’t too far a walk from his home. he doesn’t have a car, doesn’t believe he needs one. he likes taking public transport, or walking places, or even cycling about. it’s fun and nice and he never has to worry about parking. the few times his friends have given him rides to work or supermarkets or wherever, he happily stays without a car but with his license. it makes life that much easier.

he rubs his hands together. the bus is a few minutes late, but he’s sure the host won’t be too bothered by it. with the party he suspects it is, he doesn’t think turning up ten minutes late will put a damper on things. he’s never really been the centre of attention or the main attraction, but that’s okay. he has his spotlights and that’s enough for him.

an elderly woman sits next to him and makes small talk, speaking of her grandkids. he smiles politely and entertains her, listening to stories of learning how to skip stones, how to do basic and traditional korean dishes, how they kept messing up words, stumbling over pronunciation. there’s a story that includes all four of her grandchildren, their first time riding a horse and their first visit to a hospital. he’s very sympathetic, making sure to react right, politely, until the woman gets off two stops before him.

the young man thanks the driver before leaving the bus. he looks around at his surroundings, trying to gather himself. he pulls out his phone and scrolls through the conversation he’d exchanged with the host until he finds the directions. walking calmly, his eyes dart from the screen to the buildings to his right until he reaches the right number.

the host is smiling when they invite him in. he sheds his coat and scarf but chooses to keep his hat on. the house is warm and the air is lovely and scorching against his freezing flesh. he’s pulled through the house before he has the time to get rid of his gloves, pushed outwards onto the porch. there are guests there, people he mostly recognises and a few new faces.

soon he has a drink in his hands and he’s laughing full-bodiedly, grinning wide at the jokes that flow around everyone there. he ignores the pressure at the back of his mind. it does fade, at the beginning. it fades and he can relax.

it’s after his second glass that the pressure returns with force of a freight train that leaves him breathless. the edges of his vision turn black and fly toward the centre, resembling a piece of paper burning from the edges inwards.

the last thing he remembers is a hand on his arm and a voice asking if he’s okay.

 

 

 

 

the room is quiet except for gentle murmuring coming from its only inhabitant. he’s focused on his work, kneeling and surrounded in gentle smoke that caresses his figure. the atmosphere is cold and tense, the man expecting results and wanting them quickly.

the man’s hair seems darker in the poor lighting offered. most people who meet him already suspect him to be a man made from the night itself, with dark eyes and hair, navy blue and black tending to be the colours most seen in his wardrobe. his teasing nature and somewhat cold manner that always gives him results often earns him comments about belonging to late autumn.

his movements are gentle but precise, eyes heavily lidded as he continues to work. his concentration is varying from the floor before him to the talismans littered about, candles lit with a gentle glow, the smoke that swirled around him like fog. occasionally faces or limbs could be made out of the fog, whispering voices answering his own.

another reason people believe him to be made of the night is because of the constellations, stars and galaxies pressed into his skin. the inked lines that form dreamcatchers and crescent moons. some say he’s tainted; others, gifted.

the responding voices become louder, fog swirling before him. the faces are clearer, hands smoothing over his shoulders and clawing down his arms. he’s close, he can feel the turmoil, the squabbling, the begging. they’re almost there, almost within his reach––

heels clacking behind him make his eyes snap open and the shapes disappear.

park jinyoung’s face collapses into a frown, hands smacking his thighs as they fall from where he’d raised them. he turns to look over his shoulder, glaring at the grown woman who’s breached the threshold. her step falters, the hesitance barely there to the untrained eye. she continues to move further into the room, something clutched in her hands.

“I am busy, if you can’t already see.”

she sends a look his way, stopping when there’s five feet of distance between them. “you’ve been down here since early afternoon. answers are expected.”

jinyoung’s frown turns into a complete glare, brows furrowed and eyes sharp despite the poor light. “I’ve told you before, I work best at night. the comfort it gives me and my work is undeniable.”

the woman shifts her weight onto one foot, changing her position. she’s trying to give off more confidence than she feels, he can tell. she wants to be the one carrying the conversation, wants to be the one demanding for respect. they both know she’s never going to get it from him.

“he’s getting restless.” she fiddles with what’s in her hand and he spies it now as a leather handbag. “it has been a decade. he’s worried about her. you told him–”

“what I told him has _nothing_ to do with you,” jinyoung spits out. he doesn’t move from his kneeling position. if she leaves now, he can quickly get back to the connection, to his conversation. he can spy and do his job and give the man the answers he’s looking for. “it is strictly between him and myself. whatever position you think you fill here isn’t as precious as you think it is.”

she does a very good job at hiding her discomfort and pain, he notes. the woman sets her face hard, lips drawn into a tight line, eyes hard and eyebrows as straight as she can manage. “park, that is no way to speak to me–”

he snorts and looks away from her.

“park, if you’re not going to answer me, you need to answer him.” she’s forceful and determined, he’ll give her that. “we need to know if we’re going to get results or if all this is just a waste of time.”

jinyoung stands quickly and turns on her, pointing at her chest. “this is _not_ a waste of time. I have never been so _insulted_ in my _life_.”

she stands up to the fight, squaring her shoulders and straightening her back. she might feel confident, he supposes, in the height difference her heels offer her. “everything you do is a waste of time. not once have I witnessed something useful come of you. hyacinth is ten times the witch you could ever be, and she’s been dying for ten years.”

he lowers his hand and takes two steps forward. “humans like you are all the same. can’t appreciate what’s right in front of you.”

“there’s nothing for me to appreciate,” she spits back.

jinyoung’s glare is venomous, the smoke from his candles still clinging to his clothes, to his hands. the woman in front of him isn’t someone he mingles with regularly, someone he would usually sit with to eat lunch. so her words should mean nothing to him, should just flow through him like water off a duck’s back. but, by god, if she hasn’t been the most infuriating person he’s ever met.

“what are you two doing here?”

jinyoung and the woman look up. the man entering the room through the door is wearing a suit. his hair is greying and there are lines in his face, lines that make him constantly look as if he’s considering the worse outcome of every situation.

“I was disrupted from my work, sir,” jinyoung answers, jerking away from the woman and returning to his previous post. however, he refuses to kneel just yet.

the man moves his eyes to the woman. his voice is calm. “I told you only to approach him if he had finished.”

“he’s been in here for so many hours of the day, I thought he must have _something_ ,” she insists, taking a step towards him. “or he was lying to you and didn’t want to face you–”

“park jinyoung does not lie,” the man says quietly, stepping further inside and out of the doorway.

the woman swallows audibly. “sir, I don’t mean offense, but–”

“then say nothing.” the man curls his fingers around the doorknob and gestures with his free hand out to the hallway. jinyoung watches the woman as she tilts her chin up minimally and walks across the room and out the door without another word.

he flicks his eyes to the elder man, returning the nod of respect he’s given. when the door clicks shut quietly behind him, he raises his hands to his face and smooths his fingertips over his features.

the glare that had set into his face melts away. he sighs loudly and feels his shoulders sinking. dropping his hands, he looks back at everything he had laid out for the ritual, well aware that should he try again now, there’s a possibility he’ll get the answers the man wants. he chews on his bottom lip in contemplation, fiddling with the hem of his jumper. he slowly kneels. he’ll get the answers, he will.

but whether he passes on the information is another matter.

 

 

 

 

when he wakes, it’s to moonlight on his face.

his room is still and quiet, but there’s a smell that clings to the air. his brain takes a second to click in and begin working, eyes scrunching up even though the lids are still closed. the light that shines on his face is gentle but bright when he peeks an eye open. he groans and rubs at his face, mildly surprised to feel material. so he’s still wearing his gloves.

gently, he pushes himself up onto his elbows. surveying the room around him, he assures himself that it is exactly that: his bedroom. he blinks slowly and sits up. everything is exactly where he had left it before he left; his dog is curled up at the foot of his bed, asleep. confusion swirls through his chest and spreads out to the tips of his fingers and toes. he doesn’t remember how he got here. he wasn’t drunk, he knows that. there wasn’t alcohol at the party because everyone had work the next day. he isn’t going to complain.

he stretches across his bed to turn on his lamp and squints as yellow light spills into his bedroom. he keeps his eyes closed until he’s standing, then takes his time to get used to the shift in lighting . he’s still wearing his boots, which makes him pull a face. his dart down to look at them. what he sees makes him freeze.

there’s scrambling and he’s rushing into the bathroom. the door slams loudly into the wall, making his dog bark from his bed in alarm as she’s woken. he pats the wall frantically for the lightswitch and stares in horror as white, crystal clear light shines upon his full body. undeniably, it’s there. his clothes are dark, yes. he remembers he had picked them, but he doesn’t remember _why_. they weren’t his most flattering, most comfortable, most… anything. the only thing he remembers before choosing his outfit was deciding that wearing his gloves might be a good idea considering the weather.

but now, now it looks as if there’s a reason behind his dark clothes. it’s hard to see in his bedroom – he’d originally thought it a trick of the light – but now it’s clear as day. there’s stains on his jumper, his jeans. something’s dried on the toe of his left boot and has been smeared around the ankle of his right. his jacket looks dirty and hangs off one shoulder, as if he’d pulled it on hurriedly. there’s a deep red, dried smear on his cheek, crawling over the bridge of his nose.

disgust swirls in his stomach and he’s kneeling over the over the toilet before he has a second thought. retching fills the air with dry heaves and shaking breaths. his eyes are wide open, stuck in a constant state of horror, panic and complete disgust. it takes him ten minutes to calm down, throat burning from bile and white noise filling his ears.

his hands are trembling where they rest on his knees. one of the sleeves of his coat doesn’t fully cover the one of his jumper underneath, where he can clearly see the blood soak up to the cuff. he expects it, like any sane person, to continue onto his gloves. maybe he’ll have the palms completely doused in the liquid. his breath stops when he sees that the gloves are as clean as the day he got them.

a strangled noise leaves his throat and he tears the gloves off, throwing them as hard as he can at the wall. a pathetic thud is offered as a result, hardly what he’d hoped for with his mood. he’d like it if they would have clattered, bounced around like a ring or maybe just shattered like glass. but, instead, he gets the pathetic sound of thick material falling to the floor.

that night, choi youngjae decides it might be worth paying a visit to an old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [☆](http://writing-prompt-s.tumblr.com/post/147674516836) you have been gifted a lovely pair of vintage gloves. when you wear them, though, you feel strangely, but you can handle it. you decide to wear them to a fancy party, and wake up the next morning covered in blood and with several thousand dollars in your pocket. what happened?


	4. iv

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter's a little shorter than the other's, but it ends at such a nice place that i don't want to push it too much. and it focuses completely on youngjae!! so that's a good deal, right??
> 
> the character's that appear here that aren't part of got7 (minjae, hye-jin and ye-jun) are ocs that i used simply to fill in gaps. they don't play a major part or anything, and were more to keep plot going than anything. because if these boys have lives outside of each other for so many years you better believe they'll mingle with others. so don't worry about them (if you were/are)!! they won't appear in any major rolls in the future and you'll probably not hear from them for a long time.
> 
> edit (10/12/16): instead of an old sideblog i have made an actual [got7 sideblog](http://www.ximshoutingmaydayx.tumblr.com) that is better for you guys to contact me on, haha. this clean up is more for future readers and such or people rereading and to put my mind at rest lmao. so don't feel scared to drop us a message!!
> 
> **warning(s):** mild gore.
> 
> hope you enjoy the next chapter!!
> 
> —mack

youngjae thinks that not sleeping that night is the worst idea he’s had this month.

as soon as he got over the panic that had settled inside him, he’d ripped all his clothes off and buried them at the bottom of his laundry basket. a second shower of the day was most required, which soon turned into a bath as he put in the plug and just sat in the tub as it filled up. he’d sat in the soon dirty water for far too long. it was practically freezing when he stepped out. this time, he hadn’t bothered to blowdry his hair this time, and immediately got changed.

his lamp’s been on all night, lighting up his room. he has coco on his lap, holding the maltese close and petting her head whenever she stirs. his face feels stiff, as does his neck and shoulders, when he turns to look at the window. the curtains were never drawn so the rising sun’s light comes through his window and joins the lamp’s light.

slowly, youngjae lets out a lungful of air and turns off his lamp. he cuddles coco to his chest with one hand and scoots off his bed, padding slowly and very carefully through his flat. his goal is the living room, reaching out to grab unplug his laptop with his free hand and then carry it back into his room. he settles coco close to him and places his computer on his lap, starting it up.

his fingers are quick over the keyboard. in this day and age, it isn’t hard to find someone on the internet, human or mythical creature, if you know where to look. and over the course of years, youngjae has grown to know exactly where to look and what to type.

he darts his gaze over the advert on his screen. the pastel pink background is nice and soothing to his nerves. the font is a little difficult to read but he manages with a small squint of his eyes. his heart starts to sink when he doesn’t find a mobile phone number, just a home phone that he really does not want to ring. the idea that he could ring and somebody else could pick up makes him fidget, legs shifting and socks dragging against his blankets. coco looks nonplussed and he mutters a small apology.

with a glance at the time on his laptop, he confirms that it’s still stupidly early in the morning. early enough that he’s almost certain people won’t be up, still sleeping away peacefully for the next few hours until their alarms go off. it’s early and he can’t just get dressed and go to mark’s house. not even if it will take him a good half an hour to get there with the mixed transportation of vehicle and walking. but mark was never one for normal sleeping schedules. how many times had youngjae been woken up by mark because the kid thought four o’clock in the morning was just as good time as any to go out into the garden and play?

the louder than life sound of his phone ringing pierces through the silence and he very nearly falls off the bed, dragging his computer and pet with him.

scrambling hands find his phone and answer the call without a second thought, pressing the cold screen against his equally cold cheek. “hello?”

“yah, youngjae! why haven’t you been answering my messages?”

the sound of his friend’s voice jolts him awake and he slowly sinks to the floor, careful not to jostle his computer too much. “mi-minjae? what… what time is it?”

“… oops. hey, yeah! it’s so early! how are you even awake?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” youngjae settles on. he sits on the floor almost dejectedly, exhaustion making its home in his bones, back curved under an invisible weight. “you working?”

“yeah, yeah, I just finished my shift.” there’s some rustling from the other end of the line. “hey, now that I have you, have you heard from hye-jin and ye-jun?”

youngjae blinks. the couple are friends of his and minjae’s, usually the ones that are subjected to constant tease from minjae and a few others about how lovey dovey they are with each other in public. “… why would I have heard from them?”

“weren’t they supposed to go to that party you were invited to last night?”

if you ask, he could tell you where the freezing sensation starts and where it spreads to. he can’t move, can’t breathe, because all he’s thinking about is that he had friends at that party last night, at the party where he blacked out and woke up hours later in his own home covered in blood with no recognition. he had friends at a party that he either got a fight in with someone or– that amount of blood couldn’t have come from a fight. there was too much. his clothes had stuck to his skin.

he's shaking now, breath exhaling unsteadily and eyes begin to sting. his vision blurs and he doesn’t know how he’ll live with himself if he doesn’t find out, if he doesn’t _know_. he’s not sure he’ll be able to live with himself if he _does_ find out.

“...jae? hey, choi youngjae, can you hear me?”

he jolts at minjae’s voice crackling through his phone. his bedroom is too quiet, too normal for what he’s feeling inside him right now.

“are you okay? do I need to call someone?”

“n-no! no, I’m fine, minjae, I’m fine.” he covers his face with his free hand and closes his eyes, trying to control his body’s movement. “I-I didn’t see them at the party last night. or I don’t… I don’t remember seeing them.”

through the phone comes the faint jingling of keys. “are you sure you’re okay? ‘cause I can come over and–”

“no!” youngjae almost gives himself whiplash with how quickly he launches himself forward, eyes wide in panic. his mouth is dry when he swallows. “I– I got some upsetting news from a friend, is all. sorry. I kind of need to go and see them. I’ll talk to you later, minjae.”

he can hear minjae’s disbelief as he says, “okay, youngjae. stay safe, alright?”

he nods before he realises it’s a dumb thing to do. “yeah! yeah, I will. bye, minjae.”

“goodbye, youngjae.” the line goes dead against his ear.

his heart is bouncing around his chest and sending thuds to what feels like speakers in his ears. he drops his phone and rubs at his face viciously. he’d forgotten about hye-jin and ye-jun, utterly and completely forgotten. he’d suspected they had couple things to do that night rather than go to some stupid party. but now there isn’t any denying that something could have _happened_ to them.

the young Korean man is scrambling to stand and launching himself at his wardrobe. he pulls out the first clean thing he can get his hands on which turn out to be his palest jeans along with his favourite, huge black hoodie. it feels like a good idea when he yanks it on over his t-shirt. it swallows his frame and the hood hangs a few inches from his face which makes it nicer. his socks slide against the wooden floor but he walks with determination to the front door.

coco patters behind him so he bends down to cuddle her close. she licks his cheek once, twice, then bites at his jaw until he lets her down again. she attacks his shoelaces as he tries to shove his sneakers on. she’s relentless until he dangles her leash in front of her. the excitement she shows makes him sigh.

if he’s going to take coco with him, he needs to feed her first. he doesn’t remember mark having a dog, doesn’t think his mum liked the idea of having one around all their plants, so he wouldn’t be able to feed her there. as he pours food into her bowl, he decides to eat an apple as quickly as he can, nervously bouncing his leg from where he’s sat on the arm of his sofa.

looking around his living room, he spots a set of car keys on his coffee table. his chewing slows until he’s left there with a mouth full of mushy apple. swallowing is difficult as he pushes himself off the sofa and reaches out to move the keys. he nudges them with the tip of his middle finger and they stay exactly where they are.

youngjae’s curiosity is deadly, because when he does manage to move the keys – after issuing some force – he finds out they were stuck to the table by a small pool of blood.

he feels as green as his apple had looked before he’d eaten most of it. throwing away what he can’t stomach, he goes to the bathroom and reaches for his toothbrush. he’s not a fan of the feeling or the taste food leaves in his mouth, loves to feel clean and fresh and minty. he walks down the hall to where coco is. she’s still eating, he’s got a few minutes that give him just enough time to finish brushing his teeth.

when he re-enters the bathroom, there’s foam coating his lips and a little dribbling down his chin. he rinses his toothbrush then his mouth out with water, wiping his face on his hand towel. he uses this moment to collect himself, pressing his hands against the counter and staring into the mirror. he doesn’t deserve this. he’s a good kid. he never did anything wrong. he doesn’t have any enemies. he even _looks_ innocent.

it might be because he’s sleep deprived. it might be because he’s overcome with panic and disgust. it could even possibly be, at a push, because he’s thinking about his friend who happens to be a witch. whatever’s the cause, youngjae swears that when he blinks, it takes his reflection two seconds to blink back.

 

 

 

 

coco pulls on her lead as they walk along the pavement. it’s good that one of them is excited, but youngjae keeps her on a short leash because they’re still in the city and he needs to keep an eye on her. it’s a work day, he remembers shortly, remembers that he should call in to work to say he’s not going to be able to do his shift today, but he’s sure minjae has probably done it for him already. minjae cares about him too much.

and because he has coco with him, he changes their walking path to something greener. he’s not mean enough that in his haste he’s going to forget that his pet has needs just as much as he does. and even though he’s anxiously tearing himself up inside, the happiness of his little dog rises above it all.

they’re walking along a path in one of the parks the city has to offer when youngjae realises that there aren’t many people there. he thinks it is a little odd, since he knows a lot of his neighbours have dogs and love to walk early in the park. he’s even made friends with some people he never would have met otherwise. and to see the park almost empty, except for a few joggers and one woman who’s sat on a bench smoking, makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

he continues walking, and maybe he starts going a bit faster than before, but that’s up to him to decide. the joggers don’t pay him attention, but he needs to go past the woman. and that’s when she chooses to look up, dark eyes locking with his. he feels his skin heat up immediately because the woman is _pretty_. she’s older than him, he’s sure, but with her pixie cut and elegant looking coat that’s long enough that only stockinged calves can be seen poking out of it, she is undeniably pretty.

he readjusts his hood and focuses on coco when she smiles at him, the shade of lipstick she’s wearing suits her too well, makes her face look that much nicer, and he’s sure his cheeks are at least a little pink now. but it could also be the cold, he argues. with himself. in his head. because that’s how this goes for choi youngjae.

“hey.”

youngjae trips over a small stone in his path and turns his body to look at the woman who’s now standing. she drops the cigarette she’d had between her fingers – he notices that there are faint lipstick stains on the end of it which just makes his face feel that much hotter – and steps on it, smearing it into the ground.

she saunters over to him, because there isn’t another word to explain how she _moves_ , and stops in front of him. her eyes trail over his face and he suddenly feels exposed and underdressed. will she be able to see what he might have done last night?

“what’s your name, sweetie?” her voice is soft and commanding as it cups his ears.

“choi youngjae,” he answers quickly. his eyes widen. he hadn’t meant to say that.  he hadn’t wanted to give his name out, at least not his full name. but something had pulled it out of him.

“choi youngjae,” the woman tries, rolling it around her tongue in a way that is distinctly sensual. he decides that her voice is like honey, dripping into his ears. he can almost feel it slipping down his throat. almost. “what are you doing out here so early, choi youngjae?”

“I’m walking my dog,” he says. again, he didn’t mean to, but part of him expects it. part of him already knows that this is a bad idea – a very bad idea. he has some control, he thinks, because that is only what’s he’s doing _here_ , in the park.

the woman tilts to the side to spot coco and her smile is bigger, wider. her lips part, showing pearly white, straight and blunt-looking teeth. “is that it? it’s so cute. can I pet it?”

youngjae takes a step back, trying to pry himself away from the woman. when she looks back up at him, eyes expectant and sharp, he’s shaking his head vigorously. “no. she doesn’t like to be petted by strangers.”

if her speech is honey, her laughter is melted sugar.

“that’s such a shame. she’s such a pretty little thing,” she coos, grin never leaving her face. she straightens herself and cocks her head, staring him straight in the eye. “like her owner.”

he almost chokes on air – which, really, isn’t too much of an unusual feat with him – when she links her arm with his and starts walking. it takes him a little to find his footing but soon the two of them are marching along the path with coco wandering a few feet in front.

“tell me, choi youngjae, are you single?”

his cheeks definitely are burning now, and he refuses to look at her. “yes.”

her grip on his arm tightens but he still refuses to look at her. there’s just something about her, something hot and heavy that makes him regret coming to the park, regret ever looking her way. she’s older, she’s with experience, she’s… not normal. because he’s acutely aware of her every move despite the fact that his hood blocks out most of his view of her; because he can feel her every step vibrating through his bones, can still feel that honey-like substance clinging to the back of his throat even though when he swallows, there’s nothing there.

he tries to ignore her, tries to just concentrate on walking coco until she gets bored of his silence and goes elsewhere, finds somebody else. it’s going well, she’s huffing beside him ten minutes in. it’s not from exhaustion, or from walking, it’s annoyed huffing. it’s the sharp tsk of someone disapproving.

she stops dead in her tracks, her grip like cement. he jerks, shoulder almost dislocating from his socket, but stops beside her, eyes wide and lips parted. he’s so very confused.

“wh-what–”

“shouldn’t we be turning back?” she asks politely, her smile back on her face. her shoulders are relaxed and she’s giving him the look from before again. she’s showing no signs of the irritation that left her lips moments ago.

“turning back?” he asks in confusion.

“your little dog can’t take much more exercise, can she? it must be a long way to your home, yes?” she steps closer and he impulsively steps back. something presses into his back which he confirms as a bird bath after a quick glance.

“n-no. I was planning on walking her a little more. I’m meeting up with a friend, you see,” he rushes out quickly and somehow manages to worm his arm out of her grip. as nonchalantly as he can, he moves to the other side of the bird bath.

she looks disappointed now, eyebrows drawing together but curving upwards and her smile drops. she’s practically pouting as she looks at him from under dark lashes. “surely you can spend a little more time with me, can’t you?”

he’s looking anywhere but at her. the honey in his ears slips out and runs down the sides of his face, hugs his jaw on its way to touch his neck. the invisible goo in his throat gets thicker and he has to make a conscious effort to keep his jaw firmly shut tight so he doesn’t say a word. eventually his eyes flicker down to the gently rippling water in the bird bath and the woman’s reflection makes a freezing cold soak into his bone marrow.

the image distorts and it throws disgust like a javelin down his body until he can feel his stomach churn. people say that apples are good for settling an upset stomach, but right now, he’s sure he can prove them all wrong. he’s trembling again, watching as the woman’s reflection opens its mouth when she does. he almost throws up in the back of his throat. he can feel the bile.

“what’s the matter, choi youngjae? it’s rude to ignore a lady.”

he doesn’t notice how she can’t move past the bird bath, how she doesn’t even reach over it to grasp him. he doesn’t notice how her face is set harshly, how every line in her expression is crisp and nothing like the soft seduction from before. all he notices is the face that stares at him from the bird bath and the feeling of suffocating on _nothing_.

there is very little that youngjae can overlook in his life. things he considers a mistake or cowardly that make him embarrassed at a later date. running way from the strange woman at the bird bath – in the process almost strangling coco until she runs along beside him, yipping happily – with his heart beating a mile an hour and pounding in his ears enough to push all the honey out of them isn’t one of them.

in the future, he’ll think of his act of cowardice as the reason he’s still alive and standing on his own two feet.

 

 

 

 

 

the young man decides that if he ran from the bird bath to the first zebra crossing that came across his path, it’s okay. it’s okay because he has put a lot of distance between himself and the woman, between himself and…. and whatever she _was_. he doesn’t know if his mind’s still playing tricks on him. it doesn’t feel like it any more. he feels so wide awake, so painstakingly aware of what’s real that he just wants to crumple up in somebody’s protecting hold. this is too much for him.

they’re now more than halfway there, the surroundings that make the city a city thinning out. coco’s starting to waddle exhaustedly, her little legs finally tiring out. he takes pity on her, feeling a little guilty as he ran without thinking, and picks her up, holding her close to his chest with both hands. she settles quickly and it just makes his guilt that inch bigger; she doesn’t even try and bite at his hands.

he carries her the rest of the way to mark’s house. his heart lurches when he sees the familiar fairytale house nestled amongst other, more human, residences. his footsteps slow down until he’s shuffling along the concrete, reaching the garden that looks just as good as it had when he’d last visited.

now that he’s finally here, he stops for a second at the bottom of the stairs that lead to the front door. it’s only a second, and a second is all he needs, apparently, because the door opens and mark is standing there, in the doorway, gazing down at him with the hint of his knowing smile playing on his lips. it shouldn’t make his skin crawl, but it does.

“youngjae-ah,” mark calls softly, and youngjae thinks he can hear shuffling behind the witch. “you have perfect timing.”

“mark-hyung,” youngjae croaks out. it’s all he can get out, his throat is too dry, too scratchy, and it _hurts_.

the foreigner’s eyes widen and he pushes out onto the porch. “yugyeom!” he shouts over his shoulder but he’s standing before youngjae in the blink of an eye, hand pressing against the younger man’s shoulder. his gaze is scanning his face as if his life depends on it and then coco’s being taken from his arms. the dizziness hits him like a train.

if it isn’t for mark’s hand, he’d have fallen over.

yugyeom’s standing in the doorway, one hand pressed against the wood. his face is pinched, teeth gnawing on his bottom lip. “mark?”

“yugyeom,” mark breathes. his voice sounds strained. “I need you to carry youngjae into the living room and lay him on the sofa, please.”

youngjae registers footsteps on wood and then hands smoothing along his shoulder blades. he feels himself being pulled to lean against yugyeom’s chest and next thing he knows, his feet aren’t touching the ground and he’s being held bridal style by someone strong and familiar. the scent that engulfs him now makes his light-headedness worse and he squeezes his eyes shut, pressing his face into yugyeom’s shoulder despite his senses telling him not to.

they’re moving, air is ruffling through his hair and he clenches his fists– when did he suddenly curl his fingers into fists? there are so many things that don’t make sense, so many things that confuse him. he thinks the thing that confuses him the most is the hazy sight he gains of jaebum pulling his shoes off after he’s been lain on the couch before he blacks out.

 

 

 

 

when youngjae wakes, the scenery has changed. he’s not in the living room any more, lying on the sofa. instead, he’s lying comfortably on mark’s bed. the curtains are drawn, but light still pushes its way into the room, and it gives everything a warm glow even when it’s so cold. he’s confused as to why there’s warmth under his head but when he looks up, he spots yugyeom’s calm face and feels it seep into him.

the feeling that has a hold on his bones, on his essence, isn’t the panic from before. the blind fear that had once gripped his being is nowhere to be seen at this moment in time. he can’t really recall why he’s here, why he’s so sure of where he is. part of his brain knows he has a purpose, knows that there’s something he isn’t quite remembering. but it doesn’t seem important. because he can breathe easy and that’s all that matters.

familiar eyes peer down at him and he blinks slowly. yugyeom smiles at him. it’s one of his soft smiles, the ones that only just cause a dent in his cheeks and spread the pink of his lips. it’s one of his natural smiles and youngjae returns it without thinking.

“how are you feeling?” the android asks, voice careful and soft. his fingers brush against the young man’s forehead as he pushes dark hair out of his eyes.

youngjae blinks again and stretches like a cat. “I feel like I can feel every cell in my body.”

yugyeom laughs softly, hand pausing for a second, still buried in dark locks. he just smiles down at his friend and slowly helps him up into a sitting position. the world is no longer spinning for youngjae, no longer dancing around his vision, and he’s very happy about that. he makes a pleased sound when he’s moved to sit next to yugyeom, leaning against his shoulder.

“what happened?” he asks. he’s dazed, but it’s a good dazed. it’s a dazed he could get behind.

dark eyes dart to him for a moment, then focus on the phone now in a large hand. “I think it’d be best of mark explains that to you.”

youngjae watches his thumbs fly over the screen and snorts when he realises that the android is indeed texting mark to say that their new guest was awake. his snort is met with another soft smile – that reaches his eyes and makes the boy feel proud of himself – and a fond look.

“how have you been, yugyeom-ah?” he asks with a tilt of his head.

the phone’s screen is turned off and placed on the bed. “I’m doing okay, all things considered.”

the statement confuses him. but he supposes there must be a reason as to why his old babysitter is hanging out at mark’s house. and then there’s also jaebum. he hasn’t seen jaebum in years; they’d been close friend when they were younger, along with mark. a childish part of him hopes that the closeness and the easiness that they used to have hasn’t dissipated. then there’s a hand grasping his and playing with his fingers and he can’t feel upset any more.

mark and jaebum enter the room a few minutes later, the latter carrying a tray carefully. youngjae can spy four mugs and a few boxes on it, and wonders what’s being offered. he gets distracted easily enough by mark clambering onto the bed to sit on the other side of him.

“how are you?” the witch asks, tucking some loose strands of his hair behind his ear.

“I feel like I can feel every cell in my body. but less so now.”

mark raises an eyebrow at yugyeom, an amused quirk to his lips. then he sighs and gets comfy, taking the mug that jaebum offers him with ease. “that’s what happens when you come out of a possession.”

youngjae starts, almost spilling the contents – the smell gives away the fact that it’s hot chocolate – over his lap. “po-possession?” the almost innocent haze that he had fallen into, that had protected him from his blind panic, is gone. it’s shattered with those mere words and he remembers everything; last night, early this morning, his journey here, _why_ he’s here.

“youngjae, you came looking for me for a reason,” mark comments after having taken a sip, licking his lips. “it was easy, with how distressed you were, to figure that out. and there was something masking you.”

the boy takes a moment to just stare at his mug in his hands. he vaguely registers that yugyeom has his own mug and the contents have already gone down an inch in his cup. in his peripheral vision he can spot jaebum wrestling with mark’s desk chair so he can sit on it backwards, resting an arm across the back.

“I… I think I know how it started,” youngjae tries. the hot chocolate in his hands sloshes about the mug and he frowns. taking a cautionary sip, he manages to down enough that there isn’t a worry of spillage. he takes a deep breath.

“I got a pair of gloves from a colleague a few weeks ago. maybe it’s been a month? they were really nice and looked well-made. I didn’t really understand why my colleague gave them to me? we didn’t know each other very well. but I took them anyway, because I didn’t want to be rude.”

jaebum snorts behind his mug. youngjae snaps his gaze to him and finds himself watching the elder’s adam’s apple bob as he swallows. when the mug leaves his lips, there’s an amused smile on his lips. it’s small, but it’s there.

“you never change, do you?” jaebum muses.

mark sends him a look and elbows youngjae gently, looking expectant with raised eyebrows and wide eyes. “what happened next, jae?”

the mere use of his nickname is like warmth pooling down his back. he feels safe here, amongst old friends. it’s so reassuring, he doesn’t feel foolish venturing on. anyone else would have thought him crazy, but not them.

“every time I wore them, I felt a little weird? there was a pressure at the back of my mind and a tingle up my arms like pins and needles. but it was manageable, because it went after a little bit of wearing them. and each time it went quicker and quicker.”

mark’s sudden frown isn’t missed by any of them. it looks off on his features. he’s not one to get annoyed or angry easily; out of all of them, he keeps his cool the best. to see him even a little affected is often such a surprise and rare occasion nobody’s prepared for it. jaebum’s reminded back to the adult that had scolded yugyeom weeks ago and finds the reality that mark’s _grown up_ surprises him more than anything he’s witnessed so far, like a slap to the face.

“and then last night…” youngjae tightens his grasp on his mug and squeezes his eyes shut. a hand lands on the back of his neck and fingers start playing with his hair soothingly. he opens his eyes and lets them land on yugyeom, who gives him an encouraging squeeze. “last night I went to a party, and I wore the gloves. before I could do much, I was shoved outside, into the back garden, and given drinks. I didn’t have time to take them off. but it was cold so I didn’t think anything about it. but after my second drink – they weren’t even _alcoholic_ – the pressure in the back of my mind got…”

mark snaps his eyes over to youngjae’s face. “got?” he prompts.

youngjae’s frowning. he didn’t think about it before, because he didn’t want to, but now. now things aren’t making sense. “it didn’t get harder it got louder? how can a pressure get louder?”

mark meets his gaze but doesn’t offer and explanation. “what happened next, youngjae-ah?”

his voice is so soft that the younger boy can’t do anything but comply. “I blacked out. this morning I woke up with no memory and… and covered in _blood_.” he’s trembling again, his voice shaky. the mug’s taken out of his hands with careful fingers and yugyeom’s hand moves so he has his arm around his shoulders and is pulling him closer. “it was so much and it was dried and stained and I didn’t– I couldn’t have– two of my friends went to the party and I don’t know where they _are_ –”

yugyeom pulls the boy into his lap and wraps protective arms around him, rubbing soothing circles into his back. the bed dips as jaebum crawls on and searches for youngjae’s hand, interlocking their fingers in a tight grip that’s returned. mark stays where he is, face once more caught in a frown.

he then removes himself delicately from the bed and places his not even half-empty mug on the desk. using the time to stretch his legs, he walks around in a circle before he takes jaebum’s seat, throwing a leg over his desk chair.

“the gloves were woven to possess whoever wore them,” he says tonelessly. it’s so weird to hear him speak without something hidden behind his voice, some kind of intonation, that the three guests find themselves staring at him with rapt attention. “simple to do. don’t need much practice being a witch to do it. but as to what you did, I don’t know.”

“hyung,” youngjae says quietly, moving in yugyeom’s lap so he can see the witch’s face better. “hyung, I don’t want to be a _murderer_.”

mark looks at him then away, at nothing, straight ahead with his head tilted just a touch toward the floor. “technically, it wouldn’t have been you. your body, maybe, but not your soul.”

being human meant jaebum and youngjae aren’t used to spirit talk. it’s hard to tell one from the other; they understand the basics that they could gather simply by logic, but sometimes it’s too hard to pull the two concepts apart. yugyeom has heard of spirit talk often, and occasionally eavesdropped on it. he is more comfortable with it, giving mark a nod to let him know at least one person knows what he’s talking about.

“but why they’d give them to _you_ , I don’t know. it doesn’t make sense.” mark drums his fingers on the back of his desk chair. “have you brought them with you?”

the three on the bed rearrange themselves; yugyeom finds himself with still at least half-a-lapfull of youngjae and just wraps an arm around his waist to keep him in place, youngjae is squished comfortably between his two friends, with one of jaebum’s legs hooked around his, still holding on tightly to their interlocked hands.

he looks up, eyes wide, and leans forward urgently. “no, hyung, I didn’t. I didn’t think to bring them, I’m sorry, I was so scared, but there’s something _else_. there was someone I bumped into on the way here. a woman, but she wasn’t a woman she was– it was disgusting, hyung.”

the witch raises his head, resting his chin on his folded arms. narrowing his eyes, he gestured for his friend to continue.

“she looked re-really pretty. I didn’t understand why she was talking to me, though, because she looked a lot older. but when she spoke to me, it was as if she was forcing the words out of me. I couldn’t control what I was saying at first, and it felt as if every time she spoke to me it was harder and harder. then she walked with me and coco–” he cuts off quickly from his rambling, the words that tumbled out of his mouth like stones down a mountain coming to a paralysing stop, and finds his eyes darting around the room, trying to find the small ball of fluff.

“she’s downstairs, asleep on the sofa,” jaebum reassures him with a thumb running over his knuckles.

so he swallows, breathes through his nose, and tries again. slower this time. “we got to this bird bath. and her reflection wasn’t her– she didn’t have any skin, mark. it was as if it had been scraped off badly, but she was all muscle and bone and one of her eyes didn’t fit in her socket properly, I–”

youngjae’s quick to lean back, press himself against the cool wall, and look up at the ceiling. he’s breathing deeply, quickly, through his mouth, and can feel his stomach churning again at the image of the woman. he can feel yugyeom’s comforting touch on his hip and jaebum whispering in his ear.

mark tuts, sighs and runs his hands through his hair a few times. he licks his lips and then leans back in his chair, fingers gripping the back for support. “when you feel up for it, jae, I’m going to need you to take us to your gloves.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [☆](http://writing-prompt-s.tumblr.com/post/147293377490) you meet a guy at a park while walking your dog. he smokes, which is unfortunate seeing how incredibly attractive he is, but you decide to wave and smile back at him anyway. the man puts out his cigarette and jogs over to you with an intoxicating smile and asks for your name. a full blown conversation ensues and he seems great! that is until you see his face in the reflection of his car window.


	5. v

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh, man. this chapter... it's necessary for plot and for the story in general, but boy did i not want to write it. it dragged on for so long and was definitely the hardest one i've had to write so far. but i managed to pull through!! that being said, when i proofread it i skimmed over a lot of it just because i wanted to be done with it to allow me to start on chapter six!! so if there are any mistakes, please let me know so i can correct them.
> 
> i hope you enjoy it!! there aren't any warnings for this, and i'll give you a little spoiler for chapter six; it focuses completely on one park jinyoung!! i'm guessing, after you've read this chapter, that you guys will be able to guess what he is. i look forward to your comments and opinions!!
> 
> —mack

_september 11 th, 2006_

“are you sure you can’t keep him?”

“we can’t. we’ve been trying but we just can’t any more. he’s getting old, he’ll need to be put down soon. and you know how much that costs… we can’t keep him much longer. he already costs us too much.”

“don’t you love him? care for him as if he were your own son?”

“o-of course we do! how could you ask such a thing?”

“you’re willing to sell your son off just because times have gotten difficult?”

“it’s… it’s not like that. we can’t give him the life he deserves, we can’t afford the upgrades he’s going to need soon. please, don’t–”

“it has nothing to do with that. how much did they offer you?”

“offer? who?”

“the people you’re selling him to.”

“…”

“get out of my house.”

“wh-what!?”

“get out of my house! I’m not having someone who disrespects their own children like that in my home. I want you gone and I don’t want you to return.”

 

 

 

 

_present day_

it’s not difficult to see that mark isn’t okay.

youngjae’s nervous ever since he reveals he had barely eaten that morning or slept that night. he finds it difficult to say no to his elders when they tell him he’s going to eat something bigger than a few biscuits and a glass of hot chocolate. he doesn’t like being a burden, but it’s easy to persuade him. it’s easy to persuade any of them, he thinks, when it comes to food. so he follows the other three obediently into the kitchen.

and that’s when mark, still with a hint of a frown on his face, tells them that he’s going to go down to the basement. he disappears before anyone can make a comment about it, leaves them there in his kitchen to do as they please, to cook whatever they want. the silence that settles on them doesn’t go away even after mark’s footsteps disappear down the hall. it takes a few minutes, and a small order from jaebum, to get the three of them searching about in the fridge and cupboards.

they cook a simple stir fry, because it looks like mark hasn’t gone shopping in a good week or so. but they manage to make something that smells delicious. the scent is heavy and hot in the kitchen, but pleasant. pleasant enough that the three of them fall into a routine as if they’d continue to grow up together. it’s such a pleasant surprise that nobody questions it.

youngjae worries that one of them is going to have to go and collect mark for lunch, but the witch appears as soon as they set the table. his shoulders are more relaxed and the frown on his face has smoothed out into an exhausted expression. it’s such a drastic change in the twenty minutes he was gone that yugyeom is quick to rush forward, hand on his arm and the small of his back.

mark is hazy through lunch, manages nods and small noises that show he’s listening as the three converse. they try to be quiet, to allow mark to think about whatever it is that’s weighing on his mind. but the witch shoots them a look, narrows his eyes a fraction of an inch and the loud commentary is back.

youngjae can’t help but feel a little responsible for mark’s shift in character. he was the last one of the three to approach the witch, who had most certainly seemed fine upon his arrival. now, with the announcement of his possession and the run in with the… thing in the park, mark looks as if the world has asked of him more than he can chew.

but that doesn’t deter the foreigner; he slips off after lunch again without a polite word, footsteps once more disappearing down the hall and stairs that lead into the basement. jaebum sets about washing plates and cutlery alike, with yugyeom next to him wiping and placing things away. youngjae finally sits on a stool at the counter when coco totters in and demands attention from him. he wants to help yugyeom and jaebum but they refuse under the guise of his own exhaustion.

and that’s how mark finds them when he next enters; yugyeom is just finishing putting away pots while jaebum and youngjae are sat side by side, leaning into each other’s space, with coco on the countertop currently drowning happily in attention.

the witch stops where he is, hand pressing against the doorframe. he licks his lips nervously, looks down at what he’s holding, sighs and looks up again. “I’m going to need you guys to wear these.”

his voice is quiet like usual, but something in it must catch everyone’s attention, because three pairs of eyes are looking at him. they seem dazed, yugyeom almost getting hit in the head with the pot that’s slipping through his fingers, youngjae pausing his hand in mid-air from where he’d been playing with coco. it’s only broken when jaebum lets out a sharp hiss at being bitten, unexpectedly, by the small dog.

mark walks into the room and goes to yugyeom first. he’s closest, but he stands and waits for the android to secure the pot and close the cupboard door.

“what are they?” youngjae asks, shifting on his stool.

“something to keep you safe.” the necklace is draped around yugyeom’s neck and clasped securely. mark smooths his fingers along the chain and tucks it gently into the boy’s t-shirt. “something you need to keep hidden around other people, okay?”

youngjae watches as mark fiddles with the two necklaces he’s slipped down his arm to better handle them one at a time and goes to clasp one around jaebum’s neck. he takes his time, as if he’s nervous about breaking the necklace or some of the charms hanging from it. he also tucks it into jaebum’s shirt.

“is this because of me?” youngjae asks when mark moves to him.

the witch pauses and boldly locks eyes with him. “yes and no,” he answers sincerely. as he clasps the necklace around the younger boy’s neck, his fingers brush over skin like a breeze. when the charms fall behind material, he traces their shape for a second. “it’s about time you got protection from my world.”

in the past it was easy to pretend that they all belonged to the same world with the same rules and etiquette. they never actively pointed out the differences, as it had proved more problems than anything when they’d been growing up. the seven of them had come together in childhood, clung to each other and formed a bond they didn’t think could ever be broken.

but now problems were arising, problems they’d never really forseen. it isn’t unusual for humans and supernatural creatures to create conflict between themselves, but it’s always something you heard about from a friend of a friend, or off the news. it never concerns you, you never thought it would. because your life is too normal, or too perfect, or only just getting good. you don’t remember ever pissing off some entity to deserve this. you’re almost sure of that.

the three of them watch as mark gives youngjae a tired smile and drops his hand from his chest. he pets coco, getting close enough to press a kiss to her forehead before he slips around the counter and out of the kitchen.

“wait!”

mark reappears in the doorway, eyebrows raised and eyes wide. he blinks and looks at youngjae, “yes?”

he hesitates, for just a split second. “are you wearing one?”

the surprise on his face only heightens, except now his lips have parted as well and are making a small ‘o’ shape. the same tired smile replaces it soon enough and he shakes his head. “I don’t need one.”

his footsteps wander down the hall, getting fainter until they can’t hear them any more. yugyeom and jaebum share a look over youngjae’s head, who’s now feeling for his charms through the fabric of his shirt.

“something’s changed in mark,” the youngest offers, dropping his hand from his chest.

yugyeom pulls at the sleeve of his – mark’s – jumper, curling his fingers around them so they engulf his hands. “he’s been asked to do something by a powerful witch coven that includes friends he hasn’t seen in years. he manages to find jaebum without a problem, finds me in his attic after I run away from a dead master and uncaring family, and stumbles across you after you go searching for him because you’ve been possessed to do lord knows what that includes large amounts of blood.”

youngjae pales and fiddles with his fingers nervously. jaebum slips an arm around his waist and gives him a squeeze. he knocks their knees together gently, even though their thighs were pressed together, and lets youngjae tilt his way into his space again.

“with his parents travelling and siblings living elsewhere, he’s the only one of the tuan household who can do anything,” the android continues, cocking his head. he waits until he has both pairs of eyes on him and speaks softly. “he’s been growing up quite naturally for a while, now, but this is forcing him to think of things people a decade older than him normally only begin to experience.”

jaebum frowns, eyes unfocusing. “if something happens to us, he’s going to feel he’s responsible, isn’t he?”

there’s a sad smile on yugyeom’s face now, and jaebum finds himself wondering how someone could look so soft and so _sad_. “of course he is.”

a hand presses against his thigh and he tilts his head to look at youngjae’s face. there’s concentration in his expression, a sort of dazed look that only glosses over his features when he’s deep in thought. the eldest of the three gives the boy a small jostle, to rise him from his thoughts and raises an eyebrow expectantly when dark eyes lock onto his.

“I was just…” youngjae swallows, running the pads of his middle and ring finger over the denim of jaebum’s jeans. “mark has a lot on his plate right now, doesn’t he? maybe we should be doing something to help, you know. getting to know the threats that are out there in the world, maybe? I haven’t really been doing much research into the second world in a good few years.”

jaebum blinks. ever since he got together with yugyeom and mark, he’d been doing research into the world they were a part of, but it had more been rules and laws that were forced upon them so he could make sure that neither of them broke too many or brought too many problems with them. he’d done a little looking into objects witches made the pact with to see if there was a common trend, but he’d never thought to look up threats.

but, until now, threats hadn’t been a problem.

“what, so we can defend ourselves against them better?” yugyeom asks with a raised eyebrow.

youngjae throws him a look. “we can’t just sit back and expect mark-hyung to do all the work. it’s not fair on him. we’ve all agreed that we want to be a part of this so that means we need to act, too.”

the android drums his fingers on the countertop behind him and sighs, chest sinking so far jaebum worries he’s going to break some of his machinery. “alright. if you want to learn about the threats of the world, then go ahead, I’m not going to stop you.”

jaebum rakes his gaze over yugyeom’s form. “why are you so against this?”

“there are things out there that paralyse _me_ , from fear,” he says quietly, moving away from the counter and moving to the doorway, giving a small gesture for the two of them to follow him. “do you think you two are going to fare much better?”

jaebum’s staring at one word on the page, trying to drown out all the other because yugyeom was _right_. if an android, one of both the furthest and closest thing to human life without being human gets scared from some of these creatures that are _out there_ , how are they supposed to fair much better? and that’s what gives him the most fear; he _knows_ these aren’t fairytales. he _knows_ these aren’t figments of people’s imaginations. they’re real, they exist and they could very much hurt him.

he’s thrown from his little crisis when youngjae slams the book shut beside him and practically flings it across the room. “okay, alright. I regret being brave. yugyeom, you’re so right now please, never leave me alone.”

yugyeom looks up from the book he’d also been leafing through and throws youngjae a smug smile, all teeth and gums. it still manages to suit his face, pushing his eyes into crescent moons. “that’s not a problem with me.”

slowly, jaebum closes his own book and places it neatly on the floor beside him. “how are we supposed to help mark if we’re too… nervous to learn about the threats possible in the world?”

“we could try and figure out where our missing friends are,” youngjae suggests, looking over his shoulder at the oldest. “I mean, that’s what mark’s looking for, right?”

“primarily,” yugyeom answers with a slow blink, smile now gone from his face.

youngjae nods and stands, gathering the books he’d taken from the tuan’s library and replacing them. he then moves to a completely different section and starts pulling volumes down from shelves. jaebum’s quick to help him when he sees the poor boy getting overwhelmed by the weight of the books. yugyeom’s a little more reluctant, watching them while chewing on his bottom lip. eventually, he sighs and puts away the rest of the books that litter the floor.

and this is how the four of them spend the next few days; researching. that day, they’d each gone home, youngjae walking coco back with the promise of bringing his gloves the next day, and jaebum and yugyeom wandering home to the former’s apartment.

none of them could miss the way mark’s face pales when he peeks into the box youngjae had shoved the gloves in, or the sharp intake of breath they hear before the lid is snapped shut. the witch disappears into the basement once more, only seeming to be aware of the time and his guests when it’s time for food. every time he walks into the kitchen, he looks more exhausted, more wary. after the third day, he stops changing his clothes. yugyeom thinks he sleeps in them, too.

but they don’t want to intervene, don’t want to stop something that could possibly be the thing that saves them. so instead, they choose to bury themselves in the tuan’s library, still trying to find _something_ , some indication that there’s information in there that they can use. between jaebum going to university, youngjae working and taking singing lessons, and yugyeom trying to look for something inconspicuous he could do so he doesn’t have to feel guilty about jaebum paying for – it’s different from his masters and his families! so very different, damn it – it’s a week before they run out of books to read and decide that mark really needs to get his shit together.

yugyeom’s the one that leads them down the stairs to the basement. youngjae is sandwiched between him and jaebum, constantly pushing himself up onto his toes while gripping the back of yugyeom’s jumper to try and peek over his shoulder as the android knocks on and then opens the wooden door. its white paint has begun to peel in a way that look unnervingly like scratch marks.

when the trio step into the room, it’s to the light of only a handful of candles still going; they can see the carcasses of many more long ago having died but still placed strategically along the room. smoke fills it, heavily scented, and it makes it way too hard to see.

plants hang suspended from the ceiling, vines and leaves spilling over the side of the pots and, in several occasions, touching the floor. there’s no massive cauldron or stack of brooms in the corner; the tuans never were those types of witches. instead, there are glasses of herbs, flowers, woods, gemstones and anything else one could possibly think of that came from nature and could hold properties. there are shelves upon shelves of these jars, along with old books, notebooks and even pictures.

two thirds of the way into the room is a large and old table, looking uneven and handcrafted. it wasn’t bought from a store, and more looks as if it had been made by one of mark’s ancestors. it has a shelf underneath the surface, as well as a beam that connects each leg to the one next to it for you to rest your feet on. there are small pockets carved into it here and there that allow things to be kept while you work.

and, atop the table, slumped with one arm outstretched and the other bent, hand resting over his elbow, is a sleeping witch called mark.

yugyeom’s face softens at the visual. with light steps, he approaches the figure, minding the objects on the floor that were cast in shadows, unable to be made out. running a hand over mark’s shoulders, he gives him a gentle jostle.

youngjae reaches behind him and grasps jaebum’s wrist to drag him inside the room along with him. his eyes are darting to each of the four walls. he doesn’t remember ever coming down here, ever being exposed to this side of mark’s witchcraft family. he feels as if he’s intruded on some big secret that was never explicitly referred to as a secret, but very well felt like it was one.

jaebum couldn’t shake the feeling that the knowing presence mark’s house had always presented was stronger down here. it weighed even further on his shoulders until he felt pain in his joints. it was almost as if he had aged horribly and far too quickly, with how his body suddenly began to ache and pressure pulse around his brain in his skull.

the two of them move over to the table, where yugyeom has stopped trying to wake mark – as if he’d even been making much of an effort, realistically speaking – and now just plays with his hair, eyes stuck on the table.

youngjae and jaebum share a look and then gaze down on the tabletop.

what look like plans and instructions, diagrams on pieces of paper of varying age are scattered about, a lot of them shoved to the sides, and scattered about above them, as if someone had once had them held in cupped hands and then let them roll about the surface, like marbles, were bones; small, animal bones.

jaebum blinks. this isn’t something he thought mark would be into, would take a part of. apparently, though, he’s missing something because youngjae’s suddenly breathing a little harder beside him and has slipped his hand down from his wrist to grip his, so their palms are pressed together. when he raises his eyes, yugyeom’s face is completely blank.

jaebum’s the one who sets them in motion with a calm, “yugyeom.”

the android doesn’t look at him as he moves, gently picking mark up just as he had youngjae a week ago. the other two help to sort out the witch’s arms and head, making sure the unconscious man doesn’t feel any pain and is comfortably curled up against yugyeom’s chest.

the three of them leave the basement, nudging the door ajar, and make their way into the living room. yugyeom sits immediately on the sofa and arranges both himself and mark so the witch can continue sleeping on him in the comfiest way possible. jaebum and youngjae rearrange themselves on the arm chairs that dot the coffee table, youngjae pulls his feet up onto the seat and jaebum leaning back and spreading his legs out.

“I’m missing something,” he says, lowering his voice when yugyeom shoots him a pointed look. mark’s asleep, they don’t know how well he’s been sleeping the past few days, but the dark hues under his eyes are indicators of something bad. “you guys noticed something downstairs that I didn’t. what was he doing?”

“he was doing something I didn’t think he could do,” youngjae whispers, tilting his head towards jaebum to allow him to hear better. he moves his eyes from his friend to the foreigner. “he was trying to communicate with a witch of a different… streak? different magic type, if you want to call it that, while using that exact magic that isn’t _his_.”

jaebum stares perplexed. “I didn’t think you’d know this much about witches.”

the youngest looks at him, almost reluctantly. “I stopped talking to mark a few years after you, hyung. he taught me a few things.”

that has the second oldest snapping his jaw closed and quickly staring straight ahead of him. he doesn’t like being reminded of the fact that he hasn’t really been friends with any of them in about a decade, doesn’t like the fact that he seems to be the only one who’s utterly clueless when it comes to anything supernatural. he can feel his ears heat up but tries to push past it.

it’s not instantaneous, his continuation of the conversation, but neither yugyeom nor youngjae comment. “what magic was he using then?”

mark shifts in yugyeom’s lap, lips parting as a breath of air is forced audibly out. he pushes his face against the android’s neck and settles down again, chest slowly rising and falling.

youngjae tilts his head back to rest it on the back of the armchair. “he was using a branch of necromancy.”

 

 

 

 

_june 6 th, 2003_

“yugyeom-hyung!”

the android has his arms prepared for the seven-year-old who bounds over. the smile on his face is blinding and yugyeom returns it, swooping the child up into an effortless hug. he settles the boy on his hip despite the fact that he’s old enough to walk on his own, and makes his way into the back garden.

“hyung, yien and jaebum are hiding!” the boy says excitedly, curling his fingers around the older’s t-shirt. “I’m it but I don’t know where they are! I’ve searched everywhere but I can’t find them.”

yugyeom smiles and places the boy down on his feet. he isn’t surprised when a small hand holds onto his index and middle fingers. “I’ll just have to help you find them, won’t I?”

youngjae’s eyes are big and wide as they look up at him. he nods vigorously and grins, immediately tugging his new friend off, further down the tuan’s garden. and that’s how it goes for the afternoon; yugyeom’s following the little boy around in the summer heat that weighs down on his shoulders and forces beads of sweat to roll down the back of youngjae’s neck, searching for the two youngsters that are missing, looking behind every bush and up every tree, even sneaking into the shed that’s hidden at the end but no avail. there isn’t a single indication that either boy is in the garden.

youngjae pouts when they sit in the middle of the garden. he pulls at blades of grass dejectedly and mumbles, “I bet they’re in the house. the house is off limits! we agreed it was just the garden.”

running a hand through the boy’s hair, he tries hard not to think too much on the worry that sets in at the prospect of having lost two of the boys he babysits often. instead, he gives the most encouraging smile he can manage. “I’m sure we’ll find them. and if not, we can always lure them out, can’t we?”

“lure them out?” youngjae asks, looking at yugyeom sideways wearily.

“well,” the android begins, letting his voice carry a little, “it’s very hot today and I don’t know about you but I could definitely go for an ice-cream about now. what do you say, jae?”

the giggling he gets is absolutely precious. “ice-cream!”

yugyeom grins and shifts to his feet, offering a hand to help youngjae up. his balance is pushed, however, when another small body collides into his legs from behind. unable to fall because of the machinery beneath his skin, he looks down in surprise at small arms that wrap around his hips.

“jiaer!” youngjae squeals and suddenly his babysitter’s hand is bypassed. instead, the seven-year-old runs around to hug onto the new little boy so the three of them look like a little conga line. yugyeom says nothing, just smiles down at the two boys and ruffles their hair.

“jae jae!” jiaer turns around and wraps his arms around youngjae now, almost knocking the poor child over. the two of them rock from side to side before yugyeom decides to intervene.

“hey, jiaer, we were just going to get ice-cream, would you like to join us?”

the wide grin on the chinese boy’s face brings out youngjae’s own and the two of them jump up and down at the prospect of getting something cold in the heat of the summer. from behind the three of them they hear rustling and turn. yien and jaebum are legging it down the garden towards them. they stop just in front of them, yien doubling over to place his hands above his knees in order to try and get his breath back. jaebum, in turn, uses his bowed back as something to lean on.

“we… we wanna get ice-cream, too!” jaebum says, standing up straight and looking up at the babysitter with hopeful eyes.

yien takes a deep breath and straightens up too, nodding eagerly.

“that’s no-no!” youngjae shouts, moving to stand in front of yugyeom defiantly, with his arms crossed over his chest and a pout on his face. “ice-cream is only for good boys!”

jiaer moves to peek around yugyeom’s legs, clinging to the back of his shirt. his eyes jump from each of his friends and back again, aware that he’s missed something and trying desperately to peace it all together as best he can.

“what? but we’re good boys!” jaebum says with a frown.

youngjae shakes his head and points a dramatic finger. “you guys cheated!”

immediately, jiaer jumps forward and links arms with the seven-year-old, looking aghast at the two ten-year-olds. “you guys _cheated_? you know you’re never supposed to cheat! cheaters never win.”

“we didn’t cheat,” yien sulks, shoulders slumping.

jaebum nods furiously. “yeah! it’s not our fault youngjae isn’t very good at being it in hide and seek.”

the boy in question gapes, then stomps his foot. “I looked everywhere! yugyeom also helped me and we couldn’t find you anywhere! you had to have cheated!”

“you got yugyeom to help you?” yien asks, eyes raising to look at the android’s face. “ _that’s_ cheating. you’re supposed to find us on your own.”

“alright, alright,” yugyeom finally intervenes, moving forward so he can crouch down between the four boys and looks at each of them. “this is just a game, and it’s designed for having fun and passing time with friends. are you really going to tell me that you’re going to get mad at each other over this?”

the four boys stay silent, varying degrees of shame or embarrassment present on their features as they refuse to look him in the eye.

“you know,” the babysitter sighs loudly, dramatically, shaking his head, “I thought you boys were more mature than that.”

yien sputters and jiaer chokes on his own gasp.

“we are mature!” youngjae says quickly.

“we’re very mature,” jaebum adds in, taking a step towards the android.

yugyeom raises an eyebrow. “really? it doesn’t seem very mature to me for you to cheat or for you not to allow someone to come along just because you _suspect_ they’ve cheated.”

there’s shuffling amongst the four boys as they kick at dirt and turn to face each other, then away. it isn’t long, though, until they’re all hugging and passing around apologies. the air is lighter, bright in the sunshine as four excited children rush around their babysitter on the way to the ice-cream parlour, debating at the top of their lungs which flavour they should get.


	6. vi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> six chapters in and my brain is already telling me to ask somebody else to take this over because i can't handle the responsibility of a multichaptered book, lmao. i'll let you guys in on a secret; this is the first multichaptered work that i've managed to write past the third chapter (and i'm not lying or being cheesy when i say it's literally because of the feedback i'm getting)!! so please be proud of me for that if not for anything else, omg.
> 
> i'll tell you what's difficult is when you're writing something like this and have literally no friends that are in the got7 fandom to talk shit over with. i've literally got to keep it all in my head and try and write without getting egged on with friends or spoiling things in these author notes and boy howdy is it a lil draining. so half the time i end up rereading comments instead of writing, whoops.
> 
> this is also my first time writing jackson!! so i hope i do him justice, and if he seems a little off please do let me know!! the boy has so many sides that he shows off sometimes it's hard to capture him just right.
> 
> inspirational prompts at the end of the chapter, once again!! i'll try and incorporate some more in the future as these past few chapters have just really been linking stuff together. i'll try and do less filler things now. i feel like we're getting deep enough that i can touch further into the bigger plot at hand, lmao.
> 
>  **warning(s):** violence.
> 
> hope you enjoy!!
> 
> —mack

to say jinyoung is worried about mark passing out during their conversation would be an understatement.

it isn’t unusual for a witch to suffer from exhaustion after using a large surge of their magic. with their power being something embedded so wholly in their core, tied tightly around them and everything that made them _them_ , they need to take care of themselves physically and mentally in order to be able to perform as well as they can; to be able to do whatever it is they wish without worrying about falling into unconsciousness halfway through. it’s a concept that’s been around for so long that jinyoung’s only concerned because communicating is _easy_.

it’s easy and hardly requires much energy, if any. he doesn’t feel any less chipper than he did before mark had communicated with him out of the blue. he supposes it might have something to do with mark using a branch of magic that isn’t _his_ , but even so, he shouldn’t have lost consciousness. it’s biting at his mind and he hates it.

he can’t do much, not when he’s stuck here, stuck under their thumb with their agreement hanging over his head. there isn’t a way that he can get a message across to mark safely, he knows that. even his delivery boy gets intercepted at random times.

his dress shoes sound loudly down the hall as he walks, velvet bag filled with the animal bones he’d been using to communicate with mark hanging by its golden cord between his fingers. he doesn’t spare a look to any of the men and women he passes, instead keeping his gaze ahead of him and acting as if he had every right to be there, to have that velvet bag and didn’t need to answer to anybody. the confidence he exuded often saved his skin more times than he could count.

without conflict, he slips into his bedroom and pushes the door closed behind him with a soft click, shoulders sinking and head lowering when he’s in the clear.

the bedroom he’s been given doesn’t suit him; it’s dark and small and full of things that hyacinth’s first-hand man most probably thought a witch of his branch would want. everything seems to be orientated towards death, towards spirits and the grim reaper and everything in between. it made his skin crawl when he’d first stepped inside, first been brought here. he hates it when people consider his branch of magic and think it consumes him. because it doesn’t. when he’s not ‘working’, death has nothing to do with him, and he has nothing to do with it. he may be a bit more in tune than others, but that’s as far as it goes.

he crosses his bedroom and pulls the drawer of his bedside table open, gently placing the velvet bag into it. a second later, it sinks through the bottom of the drawer, swallowed away, hidden. the usual things pop up in its place: several books, a notebook, some pens, loose change. he’s pushing the drawer shut gently when he hears the rustle of feathers disrupt the slide of wood on wood.

jinyoung turns and starts to undo two buttons on his shirt, eyes shifting over the form now in his room. “what do you have for me today?”

his visitor isn’t happy, the look on his face pinched. his eyes are wider than usual and don’t meet the witch’s face, instead follow the movement of his fingers. “this really isn’t a good idea, jinyoung-ah.”

he stops, thumb running around the edges of the third button. they’ve had this conversation before. “what do you suggest I do?”

“you have a choice. everyone has a choice. they don’t care what’s going to happen to you, if you’re healthy. are you sleeping okay?” his visitor steps forward and pushes the goggles that are slipping down his face back up onto his forehead. “what happens to you when they get what they want?”

the witch cups the winged man’s face in his hands, running his thumbs over cold cheeks. “you need to stop worrying about me. I’m going to be fine.”

big eyes follow him as he walks to his chest of drawers and pulls out the first top he sees and a thick enough jacket that has a hood. he has little to no shame as he finishes unbuttoning the rest of his shirt, letting is slip off his shoulders and pool first at his elbows, then at his wrists. goosebumps fan over his skin like falling dominoes and he’s pulling on the striped top before he can think too much, holding onto the long sleeves as he yanks on the jacket and zips it up so they don’t get lost.

“where are you going?” the boy asks quietly from behind. sometimes, it’s hard to remember he’s older than him.

the witch says nothing and pulls out his oldest pair of jeans, quick to change his dress trousers to them. his dress shoes are kicked to the side, fingers looking for his leather boots that are then yanked on and tied up in record timing. the more time he wastes here, the less opportunity he’ll have to fulfil his wish.

wang jackson steps towards jinyoung when he stands and grasps his sleeve tightly. the dark wings behind him are pressed closed to his back but they look alert, feathers ruffled. jinyoung thinks he’s most certainly dressed for the weather, with his thick coat and ushanka pressed down on his head. he indulges the crow and keeps his feet planted where they are.

“where are you going?” jackson asks again, pulling on the witch’s sleeve for emphasis.

jinyoung flicks his eyes from each of jackson’s and back again, tilting his head up a little. “I’m running out of resources. and I thought I might as well take a walk.”

he takes a step closer, still not letting go of his jacket. “I’m coming with you.”

full eyebrows raise and jinyoung’s giving him an incredulous look. “they will get suspicious if you accompany me, you know that, right?”

jackson frowns, the nervous expression completely melting off his features. he’s determined, and the fact that he can tell that the older man is still looking out for him when he looks exhausted makes something prick his heart. “they need you. they’re not about to get rid of you just because you go out with me.”

he shrugs. “they’re wary enough as it is when I go out on my own to collect resources.”

“but they do let you out on your own without anybody watching over you, right?” jackson steps closer again, eager and hopeful. the witch can’t look away from his eyes, feels himself get filled with an urge to not let the crow down.

“mostly,” he whispers, voice cracking and surprising them both.

“so I’ll just wait for you outside!” the winged man exclaims, finally letting go of jinyoung’s sleeve. he even smooths down the rumpled fabric, not looking the least bit guilty. “a little bit away and we can meet up.”

jinyoung watches in perplexed silence as jackson scrabbles to his balcony, yanking his goggles down over his face once more and securing his satchel as he goes. with a running start, he grips the railing with one hand and jumps over it cleanly. there’s a moment where he falls, disappears from sight over the edge – his breath catches in his throat without his permission and a jolt of unease shoots down his spine – and then a dark shadow soars upwards through the sky.

the witch shakes his head with an uneven sigh. jackson will never change, he’s almost certain of it. but that doesn’t matter much now. in fact, he’ll take something old and familiar any day. grasping a black medical mask on his way out of his room and the bag he keeps on his desk chair at all times, he murmurs an incantation under his breath when his door closes shut and can hear the satisfying quiet click of an invisible lock.

he’s not as lucky this time, when he walks down the hall. eyes flicker from his face to his attire and the mask in his grip, and it takes every nerve in his being not to run the other way or yell at them that he’s not going to betray them, not yet. it’s just his luck that when he rounds the second to last corner he comes across the woman from the basement, the woman that had interrupted his information on youngjae.

da-hyeon narrows her eyes at him and he prays, prays with everything to every deity he doesn’t believe in, that she’ll leave him alone, let him do as he pleases. unfortunately for him, she walks towards him and doesn’t stop until she’s directly in front of him.

“where do you think you’re going?” she asks, voice sharp and haughty as she tilts her chin up snobbishly.

“out,” he says simply, aiming to push past her. he doesn’t have the time to deal with her. he thinks this sentence could apply for the rest of his life; he _never_ has any time for her.

she moves, staying in his way, and frowns. it’s such a patronising look on her face that jinyoung can feel the unusual urge to get violent dwelling in his stomach. “what do you mean ‘out’? has he given you permission to go out?”

“he’s given me permission to leave when I need to collect supplies,” he sneers at her. “again, poking your nose into business that doesn’t concern you.”

her cheeks colour but she doesn’t react otherwise to his jab, deciding to brush over it. some would call it the mature and adult thing to do, he would call it her ignoring a dent in her pride. “and that’s what you’re doing?”

“obviously.”

da-hyeon looks down her nose at him, standing straighter in her heels. she doesn’t like him and he knows that, he also knows that she knows that. it doesn’t help their relationship much. “I think you should have company when you go out.”

he tries to stop himself from barking out laughter, he really does, but it just bubbles forward when he spits out, “I’m not a _child_ ; I can take care of myself.”

it’s her turn to sneer. the two of them ignore the moment where he caught he off-guard with his laughter and forced her to take a small step back. “I wouldn’t trust you as far as I can spit.”

“is there trouble?”

jinyoung and da-hyeon look to the side and spot hyacinth’s right-hand man, the very man who had saved jinyoung’s arse before, the man who was now in charge while the witch was weak, geun. his face was expectant, gentle in a way to lull people into a false sense of security. it was a touch he had long since acquired, one that jinyoung had seen fool countless of people. he had made a vow when he'd first stumbled upon it to never be one of them.

“none at all, sir,” jinyoung says boldly and moves past da-hyeon, standing on her other side and ever closer to the front door. “I’m running low on supplies since the last time I tried to use them I was _disrupted_ and had to use more than I wished for,” he shoots a glare at the woman very obviously, “so I was on my way to collect more resources.”

geun nods. it’s hard to tell if he’s pleased with the explanation, finds it reasonable, or is merely showing the witch he had been listening. his eyes now pin on da-hyeon. “why would you stop park jinyoung from getting what is necessary for him to continue working?”

da-hyeon steps closer to him and leans in, speaking in hushed tones. he humours her and tilts his head, as if to make out he wishes to hear her better. “I wouldn’t trust park too much, sir, you don’t know what he might be planning or working on behind your back. I think he should be accompanied as he goes to collect resources.”

“there will be no need for that,” geun says loudly, a small smile on his face. he looks at jinyoung, who’s giving it all to keep his face impassive. “park jinyoung knows what’s at stake if he were to go against our agreement. he won’t cause havoc on his own.”

jinyoung nods and bows. he’s dismissed with a wave of geun’s hand, who then grabs da-hyeon’s arm and drags her away under the guise of needing her opinion on something. jinyoung sees his opportunity and quickly walks down the rest of the hall, eager to escape. he slips the mask around the bottom of his face, hooking the strings around his ears, and pulls the hood up as he opens the heavy front door.

the cold air is like a slap to the face but he doesn’t care. he lets the door slam shut behind him and shoves his naked hands in his pockets, marching along the pavement. a vague part of his mind offers the fact that neither him nor jackson agreed on _where_ they were going to meet, but a larger part tells it to _shut the fuck up_. jackson always finds him, he has little doubt now.

so instead of worrying himself with trying to find his friend, he concentrates on getting to where he needs to go. he moves purposefully along the concrete but cares little about actually getting there quickly. sure, it would be nice to get out of the cold, but he never told the mafia _where_ he gets his resources. for all they could think, he could be getting them fresh himself, going out far and wide to search for them. but no, he gets them from a secret shop nestled a bit away from a park that allows its customers enough privacy that he wouldn’t have to worry about being seen there.

he’s crossed roads a few times and turned several corners before his hand is yanked from his pocket and rough gloved hands are grasping at him, heavily booted feet thudding louder beside him. he turns his head and sees jackson’s face, cheeks pink and lips dry.

“so they let you out.”

“barely.” he looks ahead again, curling his fingers as much as he can around jackson’s palm. he guides the winged man through the small patches of crowds, pulling him closer so he can speak without shouting. he doubts anybody around them will even be listening, anyway. “bitch wanted me to be followed because she doesn’t trust me.”

silence from his side tells him jackson’s thinking, and the fidgeting around his hand proves his theory. he doesn’t dare look at his friend’s face. “are they finding you out?”

“I don’t know,” he answers truthfully. his shoulders slump a little and he sighs, slowly his steps until they’re walking more comfortably. “they’re not stupid, they knew what stakes to put to keep me interested in that agreement they’ve got me sucked into. and it’s not like they haven’t dealt with witches before. I’m trying to help one of the most powerful, for fuck’s sake.”

jackson changes his grip, dropping one hand and just holding jinyoung’s. the worn leather is rough against his palm. “then maybe this isn’t a good idea, jinyoung. I don’t want you to get hurt just because I can’t stay away from an old friend.”

jinyoung manages to crack a smile. they stop along with a few strangers at a zebra crossing, waiting for the get go. “trust me, if they find me out, you’re not going to be at the forefront of their minds. there is a lot of shit I haven’t told them.”

“jinyoung…” the crow’s face falls and he looks worriedly at the witch, fidgeting where he stands once more.

“look, I’ve got things to buy, so this conversation can wait until I’ve got everything I need, okay?” the witch says as he spots the green light allowing them to cross. he pulls his friend along by his hand across the road, willing the boy to be quiet for once.

fingers intertwine with his, and it’s a little uncomfortable because the leather makes them that much thicker, but he manages. “okay.”

the walk to the park takes them another fifteen minutes. it’s quiet, with jackson never letting go of jinyoung’s hand, and the latter finding himself unable to complain about it. out of all of their friends, jackson was always the most touchy feely, almost the one reaching out for some kind of physical manifestation of the love the seven of them shared. and in its own way, it was worth being put through because it made both of them feel just as wanted and needed as each other.

there are hardly any looks sent to jackson’s wings, mainly only from young children who think _anything_ is amazing. the witch can still remember the days where he was growing up and people wouldn’t want too much of his type of magic being on show, or for the species with very noticeable features of non-human origin to be seen in cities and communities alike, and yet now, almost anyone could walk almost anywhere without fear of being attacked.

it’s reassuring.

jinyoung leads jackson down a path in the park, sharply turning off it just after a bird bath. the winged man is thankfully quiet as they crunch their way over grass and into the woods that started at the edge of the park. he finds it only because he’s been there before, only because he’s looking for it, but the path seems very obvious to him, so when jackson stumbles behind him, having let go of his hand so he can keep his balance, he can’t help but think of his friend as _clumsy_.

the shop he buys from looks more like an abandoned cottage. it’s two stories tall with trees draped over its roof and dangling in front of the top floor’s windows. its brick walled with a wooden door that has long since lost its paint. where it is is a shock to the senses, nestled in a clearing, taking up all the space and just suddenly there in front of you with no warning, no sudden disappearance of its path. the path leads straight up to the porch.

jackson’s awe is almost too loud; jinyoung can feel it before he turns around to look at his friend’s face. he smiles and walks up to the cottage, stepping onto the creaky porch and knocking hard on the door. the thuds are hollow and a bit of dust comes away on his knuckles. the crow comes up behind him slowly, one hand pressing against the small of his back.

the door creaks open and an elderly woman’s face fills their view. she squints at them, eyes behind thick glasses scanning their faces. jinyoung reaches up and pulls his mask down until it rests under her chin, giving her a small smile. immediately, the woman’s face lights up and a responding smile settles on her mouth.

“ah, my favourite necromancer,” she says and steps aside, opening the door wider to allow them inside. “the usual?”

jinyoung nods and steps inside, already shifting the bag from his shoulders. “except for myrrh and copal. I still have plenty of them.”

“of course, of course,” the woman replies, bustling her way further into the shop. she dips into the room ahead and turns a left, her voice carrying out behind her. “tell your friend to shut the door behind him!”

the witch moves further into the shop and watches jackson with curiosity. the crow is staring around him with wide eyes; on the inside, the shop is filled with light from old lamps that allow you to look upon the merchandise and watch your step, but much else. there are shelves filled with different things, ranging from all different kinds of magic. it helps that different witches have found properties that work for them in the same herb or stone or gem.

jackson does as he’s told and closes the door shut behind him. he wanders after the woman and looks inside the room. apart from herbs and gemstones that he can see clearly, there is also a small selection of books that offer guides for young children and teenagers, along with a single book that has been dedicated to helping supernatural folk deal with humans. it manages to get a laugh out of out of him that has the witch looking over in curiosity.

the man’s eyes crinkle in the corners when his friend holds up the book and he has to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing out loud. instead, he moves to the makeshift counter and pulls his wallet out of a secret pocket in his jacket. he pays and places all of his new purchases carefully in his bag, making sure that none of them got too squished.

both jinyoung and jackson bow before they leave the shop, wishing the elderly woman a good day. she makes them both blush with comments on their appearance and speaking of them as if they were a couple. but it’s all in good nature, all with a happy smile on her face, so they wait until she’s closed the door and they’re halfway back to the park before they laugh.

“you wanted to continue our conversation now?” jackson asks as the two of them slip onto the closest bench. it’s cold and hard but better than standing, letting their legs and feet rest.

jinyoung places his bag between his feet, playing with the straps. “I was contacting mark earlier.”

that makes jackson start, despite the fact that he’s sitting down. the feeling that his friend is being just shy of too dramatic washes over him, but he ignores it for favour of focusing on the intelligent words being directed at him. “you _what_!?”

“he passed out on me,” the witch continues and turns his head to look his friend dead in the face. “he passed out on me, jacks. he _never_ does that. communicating isn’t that hard, doesn’t take energy from you enough that halfway through, _after not even two minutes_ , you lose consciousness.”

the crow’s brows are drawn, eyes wide and corners of his lips curling down. there’s weight in his gaze, and jinyoung’s almost sure he can catch a glimpse of that ever there exhaustion when their eyes meet boldly.

“that’s… that’s not good, is it?” he asks nervously, bouncing his leg.

the witch shakes his head, fingers tracing a few inches of the seam on the straps of his bag, back and forth, back and forth. “it’s why I want you to go visit him, to see if he’s okay.”

jackson’s eyebrows drift upwards towards his hairline that’s hidden behind his hat and goggles, and he leans a few inches forwards. he rests his elbows on his knees. “you want me to do _what_?”

“I want you to check on him.” his gaze is unwavering, steady and hard and meaningful. “I can’t go looking for him, they’d be on me faster than I could say hello. I have my doubts about whether or not they’ve _actually_ let me out now without _some_ kind of surveillance.”

the man before him freezes, then slowly thaws from his shoulders downwards. he looks away, knee never ceasing in its bouncing. “I can’t, jinyoung. I’m not going to go to mark.”

his jaw drops a little, lips parting not even a centimetre, eyes wide and eyebrows raised. this was a shock to his senses, considering how he had remembered clearly jackson taking a massive liking to mark and claiming him as his best friend almost instantly. “you’re not going to go to mark.”

“mark has his siblings and his parents. and if they fail, he can go find someone,” jackson says, maybe a little harsher than he intended, sending a look at the necromancer. “he has the possibilities of going out and finding someone who can help him and care for him. hell, I’m going to go as far to say he’s probably found one of our old friends by now with the ultimatum geun gave him. but you? who do you have?”

jinyoung’s speechless. he slowly settles his jaw back to where it was supposed to be, feeling his teeth press together. he composes himself, but can’t bring words to fall from his mouth.

“you can’t go out and find someone, jinyoung. they’re not going to let you make friends with anybody who they don’t already trust and have in their clutches completely.” a hand comes to rest on his wrist, wrapping around it and squeezing. “if I’m going to be the only thing you’ve got for a while, then so be it.”

the youngest of the two of them finally looks down at his hands that have long since stopped playing with his bag. he swallows audibly and breathes out shakily. he’s not usually an emotional man, but there’s something about jackson that always seems to get to him.

jackson moves his hand from his wrist to wrap an arm around jinyoung’s shoulders and pull him closer. the two of them sit there, thighs pressed together and shoulders overlapping, on a cold bench in the middle of a park for a good few minutes. somewhere in the distance there’s a group of children playing, giggling and screaming at each other.

“someone still needs to check up on mark,” jinyoung insists, knocking his knee against jackson’s.

“and I’m sure jaebum or even yugyeom is giving him all the attention he needs right now, okay? and if he has passed out, at least he’s sleeping now.”

“but why did he pass out?” he looks meaningfully at jackson, can feel the pessimism he once toned down rising once again at the edges of his mind. “why did he exert himself so much? we barely managed to get passed hello’s and how are you’s before he was gone.”

the crow squeezes his shoulder comfortingly. “he didn’t say anything else?”

jinyoung’s throat is suddenly dry and he doesn’t want to talk any more. he doesn’t think he deserves to talk much tonight, but, of course, his friend would remind him that this isn’t his fault. that none of it is. so, instead, he chooses to spread what mark had managed to get through to him, to allow jackson to freeze once more in disbelief, for his jaw to drop and work as if he’s trying to speak.

“he knows I was the one who put the incantation on youngjae’s gloves.”

 

 

 

 

jinyoung is confronted with geun when he comes through the front door, bag heavy on his shoulders. he blinks up in surprise. he’d had his phone in hand after a while to keep an eye on the time so he wouldn’t push his luck and he’d been sure when he’d left for the mafia’s home that he hadn’t overstepped his boundaries.

“sir?” he asks tentatively.

geun smiles at him, the same smile that comforts fools, and reaches a hand out for him. “park jinyoung, please come with me.”

he’s wary but complies with a nod. there’s a steady hand on his elbow that steers him down hall after hall. his mind already knows where he’s going, even if he hasn’t consciously thought of it just yet. so when he sees geun’s office door pushed ajar, his blood runs cold.

geun steers him inside and pushes him down on a chair before a desk. the man then proceeds to sit behind the desk, resting his elbows on the tabletop. the door shuts closed behind them and jinyoung can’t look beside him quick enough before a figure moves into his line of vision. one of geun’s favourite bodyguards is standing to the right of his desk.

“what’s this about sir?” jinyoung asks unsurely. his bag is still hanging from his back.

“you know very well, park jinyoung, that you are to tell us everything you find out with your little adventures. that’s what we agreed on isn’t it?” geun’s voice is still calm and pleasant, soft and light despite being gruff with old age.

the witch is apprehensive. “yes, sir.”

“so why is it that when one of your… ‘minions’ does it’s work and gets close to one of our targets you didn’t think it was important enough to tell us that the target saw what your minion really was?”

jinyoung’s mouth goes dry. he’d been trying to keep the little stunt with youngjae quiet. the fact that his friend had seen the woman’s real appearance in the bird bath had been his secret for a good week; a good, long week, but totally worth it. he’d hoped geun would never find out, never be able to put the pieces together, but, obviously, he was wrong. he’d told jackson before that you can’t hide anything from the mafia, so why had he thought he could pull it off?

his silence is apparently very telling because with a wave of the man’s hand, geun’s bodyguard steps around the desk and yanks jinyoung’s bag off him forcefully. he hisses quietly as his arms are pulled awkwardly, shoulders aching.

the contents of his bag are spilled across the table, and he feels a little pride when geun’s face betrays none of the triumph the man had thought he’d feel. so the witch just rubs at his shoulders and tries to forget that he’s actually scared of someone who has no mythical blood running through their veins.

“you hid information from us, from me, from hyacinth,” geun says. the gentle tone is all gone, the harsh and cold truth dripping from his words. there isn’t a hint of the smile on his face, instead the lines that had been beaten into his skin over the years are accented when he scowls. “this isn’t what we agreed to, park jinyoung.”

this time, when the bodyguard steps forward he reaches out and grasps jinyoung’s arm, yanking him to his feet. the punch that connects with his nose is unexpected and snaps his head right back. he blinks, staring up at the ceiling in a dazed confusion as pain erupts outwards from his nose. something warm and wet trickles down to his upper lip and fingers grip his chin, forcing him to look directly at geun.

“can you still continue on with our agreement, park jinyoung?” geun asks him, leaning back in his chair.

jinyoung doesn’t reply right away, still in a daze from the punch to his face. not answering is the wrong idea, as a second fist connects with his lower gut and he topples forward, free arm stretched out to catch himself on the edge of the table.

he manages to gasp out a ‘yes!’ when the grip on his arm turns painful. he can almost feel the finger shaped bruises on his upper arm, embedded in his skin for a good few weeks. the blood that’s pooled in the seam of his lips begins to drip onto the floor. he closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to see it.

the sound of wheels scraping against floor makes him snap his eyes open quickly. a hand on his shoulder pulls him upright and he’s now staring geun in the face and he’s _terrified_. there isn’t another word that could explain how he feels in this moment; he’s trembling where he stands, worried for the friends he hasn’t seen in years – the same friends he’s trying to protect now so they don’t have to meet this mess–, he thinks that maybe he’s finally crossed the line, thinks that maybe what he had that was valuable isn’t so valuable any more.

“even so, I think it’s about time you deserved a lesson, don’t you?” geun drops his hand from jinyoung’s shoulder and moves past him. the door behind him opens and closes.

slowly, the witch looks over at the bodyguard. he opens his mouth, wants to ask if he can maybe get out of it, offer something to stop but it’s too late. he’s pushed, stumbling as the back of his thigh catches on the arm of the chair. he just manages to catch his balance when there’s a punch to his jaw and a second to his chest.

he’s wheezing, crashing into the wall with a hand upon his chest. he coughs into his other hand, blood spluttering along his palm from his nose. knuckles catch his shoulder and the tip of a boot smacks into his shin and he’s going down–

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [☆](http://visual-prompts.tumblr.com/post/119387087161/milkclover-long-time-no-oc-art-o-this-is) inspiration i got for jackson's character in this story. i would say heavily based?? but there isn't much about them, so basically the outfit and wings probably, haha.


	7. vii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this work is now on its 68th page in microsoft word!! probably the longest thing i've ever written to date and to think so far it's only seven chapters. wow. this one itself could be considered a filler chapter/interlude. it has plot points to it!! but they're more subplots than actual big massive plot. which might move forward a little in the next chapter with jinyoung and jackson.
> 
> also, massive attack is a really good band to listen to if you want ambience or mood. i swear, they say nothing in their songs with their lyrics but the music itself just sends you into a _mood_ that i find so relaxing to listen to. i've been listening to them nonstop while writing this, and it's definitely influenced me in parts, i'm sure.
> 
> anyway, hope you enjoy this!! sorry i didn't update yesterday, but i'd been out working with my mum all morning and by the time i got home i was both physically and mentally tired. i really couldn't write (i tried, and although what i got down was actually coherent!! i only managed 1500 words), so i hope the wait was worth it!!
> 
> also, do you think i should update the tags?? i'm not sure, but there are things in this chapter i wanted to do from the beginning, but finding a time to squish them in is so _hard_. harder than i thought, wow.
> 
> no warnings for this chapter!! it's really soft, overall, in my opinion. it feels nice when i read it.
> 
> —mack

mark sleeps for fourteen continuous hours.

it’s the middle of the night when he opens his eyes next. the first thing he takes into account is that he’s laying down on something soft and padded, something far more comfortable than the desk that had his back aching. the second thing he realises is the arm that’s resting on his hip and the long legs tangled with his own. his head is cushioned in someone’s elbow, tilting it in such a fashion that is strangely not uncomfortable for someone lying on their back.

he stares up at the ceiling in content. it’s dark outside, moon and stars filtering through the gaps between curtains and giving his room a faint, white glow. for once, he doesn’t feel the urgency to do something while the moon’s out, to run back down to his basement and try to contact jinyoung once again. it still weighs heavily on his mind that he’d recognised the signature on the gloves as his own _friend’s_ , and, rather dumbly, he’d refused to believe it was actually him.

the body next to him moves closer an inch, the arm across him stretching before returning to its original position, palm gently cupping his hip. there isn’t alarm settling in his bones because he can hear the quiet ticking and whirring of machinery in the quiet of the night. he wills himself not to lose himself in his thoughts; it really wouldn’t do well to worry too much on what is currently out of his hands. his head hurts just from considering the thought of jinyoung again.

he moves one of his hands to trace along the fingers on his hip, feeling the bumps of knuckles under the pads of his fingers. the breathing of his companion changes from the light and even breaths of someone deep in the realms of unconsciousness to the harsher, more prominent breaths of someone wide awake. he keeps looking up at the ceiling and tracing dips with his fingers even when the arm under his head shifts.

“morning,” yugyeom murmurs and mark can feel the vibrations in his chest against his shoulder.

there’s a hand playing with his hair, now, and he closes his eyes slowly, sighing deeply through his nose. cautiously – because he doesn’t want to disrupt this moment, doesn’t want to do something drastic in this rare bit of calm – he turns on his side and presses his face against yugyeom, presses himself completely against him, fingers curling around the fabric of his loose shirt.

he marvels at how thin it is, at the fact that it’s short-sleeved, and shivers when he remembers yugyeom isn’t as alive as he always thinks he is, as the rest of them are. his needs are different.

yugyeom accommodates him easily, hands moving to wrap around him in an easier way, something more comfortable, something that eases into relaxed curves and gentle holds. the sound of nature outside spills in through open windows; wind rustling leaves, cicadas rising and lowering in volume, the occasional _whoosh_ of a car passing by, engine a mere purr.

“morning,” mark answers on a breath with a soft smile.

fingers play with the hair at the base of his neck again. “did you sleep well?”

he nods and breathes in the scent of his friend, of his old babysitter, of his past and his present. it dizzies him to know that his current anchor was also his nine-year-old – and younger – anchor, too. “I think I might have gone too far.”

“really? you think?”

the witch laughs, quiet and breathy, almost lazily. the teasing tone doesn’t go amiss to his ears. “I had important things to do,” he defends, eyelids twitching slightly but he refuses to open them. “I need to find whatever it is they’re looking for, and we still have three missing friends.”

“then get us to help you.” yugyeom’s voice is soft. mark’s sure that if it was something physical, it would be wrapping him up in layers and tucking him away somewhere safe. “you can’t take all the work yourself, look where it got you.”

“none of you are witches,” he breezes out, feeling something weigh in his bones, leaking from his spine outwards. “if I just had jinyoung it would be so much faster but…”

the fingers move upwards and play with the longer strands of his hair. the weight that shifts out from his spine begins to lessen. “have they given you a deadline?”

he hesitates. “no.”

“then you need to stop working so hard.” lips are pressed briefly, gently, against the top of his head, and then yugyeom settles again. the breath that leaves him seems a little shaky to mark’s ears. “take your time and find it when you find it.”

mark takes a deep breath, letting his lungs fill to the point where it hurts, and exhales through his mouth, warm air washing over the other’s neck. the lack of reaction makes him both interested and uncomfortable. “they didn’t give me a deadline, but they gave me a threat.”

the hands that are soothing him, rubbing circles into his hip and combing through his locks, stop where they are. there’s a second of silence filled with his own heartbeat, the ruffling of leaves from outside and the gentle purr of an engine as a car inches by in the dead of night.

“they threatened you?”

there’s danger hidden in the body curled around his, mark thinks. a danger he doesn’t want to witness and yet finds himself wishing to watch; sit somewhere, high enough that he’s not part of the destruction, and just watch the android wreak havoc on those that have wronged him, wronged his friends. it’s not a good thought, but he feels the tingling in his fingertips and the want in his joints.

“they don’t play fair,” he whispers, almost all air and no voice.

yugyeom’s hand in his hair cups the back of his head and the hand on his hip smooths around to the small of his back. he’s cradled, pulled closer, and presses his nose in the dip of his friend’s collarbone. he feels safe and protected.

his voice is still low and quiet, and the danger hasn’t lessened. “what did they threaten you with?”

“the safety of my friends,” mark answers with a hollow laugh, uncurling his fingers and smoothing his hands down his friend’s front to slip them around his waist a little awkwardly. “what did you think they would threaten me with? they said they would find all of them and make sure I’d get _incentive_ to look harder and faster.”

yugyeom’s quiet. he presses fingertips behind mark’s ear gently and returns to rubbing little circles into the small of his back. he completely relaxes in the hold, feels his body melting, almost. it’s been like this ever since the android returned; clambering into his lap or grasping his hand, feeling glee when he was held or their fingers interlinked. something warm always draped itself over him like a blanket when yugyeom would hug him from behind, resting his chin either atop his head or on his shoulder.

even if the idea of yugyeom getting angry on his part, wishing to protect him and do things for him so he can still be healthy, makes him happy, it’s probably not even three in the morning, or if not just after, and it isn’t fair. they should be sleeping – despite yugyeom not needing to, and merely going into a stasis akin to the hibernation on a laptop – and relaxing against the bed.

so, to calm the boy down – or to reassure him –, mark leans forward and presses a small, soft kiss to his adam’s apple.

it’s undeniable what happens next. even with his eyes closed, mark senses the light that starts flashing in the room. he opens his eyes and shifts back, because it’s almost right in his face and he may not be sleeping, but damn if he isn’t ready for it. he catches yugyeom also looking down in complete surprise, the frown that must have been on his face from the conversation completely gone.

the light isn’t bright, instead it’s soft and pink and warm. it flashes gently from yugyeom’s chest in the rhythm of a heartbeat, mark notices amusedly. there’s a shape in the light, something he can’t quite make out through the t-shirt, even if it is thin. his fingers skim over it, moving away when yugyeom shifts.

the android sits up, back to the wall, and pulls up his shirt. the two of them stare in wonder at the very distinct shape of a ribcage coming through with the pink glow. brighter with every beat, it fades back under his skin again. slowly, even the light begins to fade with every heartbeat until it’s completely gone and the two men are left staring at yugyeom’s chest in the dim light.

mark moves and sits on his knees, scooting forward. yugyeom’s legs are crossed and his shins press against mark’s knees, forbidding him from moving further forward. inked fingers reach out and ghost over where the light had been omitted, but nothing comes forth. he looks up and locks eyes with the android. yugyeom’s eyes glow in the light once more, and he can tell they’re wide and his lips parted.

shifting nervously, mark presses his hands just above his friend’s knees and leans forward. he kisses the centre of yugyeom’s chest gently, eyes open and expectant. he isn’t disappointed; the warm pink light comes back, again beating along to an imaginary heartbeat. he traces one of the ribs with his middle finger and feels yugyeom stop breathing.

“what is this?” the witch asks, looking up at his friend’s face. he’s surprised when he spots confusion and panic in that normally warm expression.

yugyeom drops his hands, t-shirt hiding his torso once more. he admits quietly, “I don’t know.”

mark reaches up to cup yugyeom’s face in his hands. he runs his thumbs over the apples of cheeks. “maybe we should go back to sleep, hm?”

there’s a moment of silence, where the android leans into his touch and closes his eyes, before giving in and nodding slowly. they laid down again, and this is when mark notices he’s cold, that they’re above the covers, and he still has his socks on. as quickly as he can, he pulls his socks off and pulls the two of them under his blankets. the blankets mute yugyeom’s light until it’s completely faded. the two of them huddle together, pressing close and closing their eyes. it doesn’t take long for them to drift off, surrounded by warmth.

 

 

 

 

the sun has been up for a good few hours already, spreading light into the living room and kitchen, when youngjae finally shuffles out of his bedroom. coco immediately yaps and runs to him, circling his legs and nipping at his heels. he grumbles, squinting in the harsh change of light, and picks her up to pet her head almost lazily. he toddles into the kitchen with coco being held in one hand and stares at jaebum’s back.

said young man turns, mug in one hand, and blinks when he spies youngjae’s face. a gentle grin grows on his lips, making his eyes almost disappear, and he has to stop himself from openly laughing. youngjae’s bedhead is the absolute worse.

“morning, jae,” he greets a little too happily and places the mug down on the counter. a second follows and he returns to the stove, swirling something around and around in a pot.

youngjae just grunts and leans down to place a struggling coco on the floor. he shuffles up behind jaebum, pressing his cheek to his friend’s shoulder and closing his eyes. his arms hang limply at his sides as he whines, “it’s too early.”

“it’s almost noon,” jaebum replies, taking the pot off the hob and killing the heat. he pours the contents equally into the two mugs and uses a teaspoon to swirl the liquid around a little. “I made you some hot chocolate.”

the young man groans when he’s given his cup, and groans again when the warmth fills his mouth and spreads to the rest of his body when he swallows. “you’re a saint.”

the older of the two laughs, the sound brief and loud and makes youngjae smiles despite his cranky state. it’s rare to see jaebum laugh so openly, he can learn to appreciate it whenever it surprises him. there are then hands on his hips, turning him around and pushing him out of the kitchen.

“go,” jaebum says in amusement. “I’ll make us some breakfast and allow you to wake up properly, alright?”

youngjae nods. the boy distracts himself with his hot chocolate and coco, letting her nip at his fingers and her toys, feeling more awake with every minute that passes by. soon, the two of men are sat at the dining table, consuming their breakfast in silence and satiating their hunger. jaebum’s cooking isn’t super special – nothing that blows his mind – but it’s nice and enjoyable, soothing in its own way because he doesn’t have to worry about tasting anything too disgusting.

“yugyeom texted me early this morning,” jaebum says when they’re almost finished. “says mark’s awake and being forced to take it easy for the moment.”

“oh–” youngjae hides a yawn behind his hand, blinking a few times and rolling his shoulders. “oh, that’s good. we need to talk to him soon.”

his guest only nods and hums, picking at the rest of his food. the silence stretches on for a few mouthfuls. “I still don’t understand how you can pick up on things so easily when you’re not a part of their world.”

he stares at him, at the way he’s holding his utensils, how he’s eating, the slight curl to his shoulders. he can tell jaebum feels a little guilty, and he wants to reassure him, but maybe that’s not what the man wants. “well,” he starts, swallowing his food before he continues. he’s not _that_ disgusting. “I’ve always been really curious, I guess. so when I was old enough to understand the difference between humans and supernatural creatures, I just wanted to know more and investigated.”

jaebum hasn’t looked up from his plate and he quickly adds on, “a lot of people don’t look into things, either, until they’re going to commit themselves completely to some species or something. I don’t really understand why you’re being so hard on yourself.”

youngjae watches him shrug. “five close friends aren’t human and now, they’re in trouble and need to find an object that is mostly from their world. I know little to nothing on anything to do with them, I can’t actively _help_ –”

“my aunt’s a pixie.”

dark eyes snap up to him and his jaw snaps shut. for a long moment, he just stares dumbly at the younger man before him, blinking slowly. “what.”

youngjae can feel his face heat up and the tips of his ears tingling. it’s his turn to look down stubbornly at his food. “my aunt’s a pixie,” he mutters, fidgeting in his seat. “she was a bit forceful towards my mum when she realised that I hadn’t been taught anything about her world. I didn’t really have a choice.”

he’s flushed and nervous. it’s not like it’s something to be ashamed of, and, really, he isn’t. but it’s not something he just blurts out, and even less so to comfort someone. it’s a bit of trivia not many people know, but he trusts jaebum. and he’s still certain to this day that putting his trust in the man is not a mistake.

jaebum seems to catch himself, leaning back in his chair and forgetting his breakfast completely. “I…” then he groans, dropping everything in his hands to rub at his face, scratching at his hairline before fingers rake through the strands. “great. so me not knowing anything is due to not having some supernatural creature forcing me to learn about them. what a dick.”

“what?”

“we live with them!” jaebum explodes, throwing his arms out and looking a little exasperated in youngjae’s opinion. twelve thirty in the afternoon is a little early for an existential crisis. “we live with them and I don’t know anything. I don’t know laws or etiquette or anything about allergies.” his hands slap his thigs loudly when they fall. “I’m such a dick, thinking they’ll tell me what I need to know when I need to know it.”

youngjae stares openly, not looking the most intelligent. he searches his friend’s expression, tries to see if there’s a way he can take this that’ll make it easier for them, less of a strain. “… you can’t really blame yourself?” he tries, wincing a little at the face it earns him. “look, we were kids when we first met them, right? so back then we didn’t really feel the need to learn about things, and just expected to be told what we needed to know.

“and I don’t know about you,” youngjae says, jabbing his fork at jaebum, “but mythical creatures are still the smaller percentage of the earth’s population and most of the friends I made after you guys have been human. practically all of them, now that I think about it.”

jaebum still looks uncomfortable with himself, his hands not staying still as they fiddle with his top, smooth down his thighs, pick at fluff from the borrowed dressing gown. youngjae sighs and shakes his head.

“you’re older now, it’s never too late to start learning new things, alright?”

there’s a reluctant nod and he sighs. they finish their breakfast in silence and put everything in the dishwasher. when they go to dress, youngjae offers clothes to jaebum, unsure if the man will really wear what he wore yesterday. eventually, he manages to convince jaebum to take one of his shirts, but even that was a small victory.

youngjae’s brushing his teeth again, gazing into the mirror to watch jaebum’s reflection as the man washes his face. the foam is washed off his friend’s skin with water that dribbles off his jaw and starts to bead down his face, and the younger finds himself having to quickly avert his eyes when he feels the tips of his ears tingle again.

he locks eyes with his own reflection, noting in his peripheral vision as jaebum blindly reaches for a towel and starts drying his face. youngjae’s eyes are critical over his reflection, still remembering what had happened not so long ago, not sure if it was a fluke or something more. but everything seems normal, nothing twitches outside of what it shouldn’t, so he leans down to spit the minty foam out of his mouth and rinse it out with water. when he stands up, using a corner of the towel jaebum’s using to wipe his mouth, he freezes. his fingers drop the towel and search blindly for his companion, gasping onto his sleeve and tugging.

“jaebum…”

the young man drops the towel from his face, holding it in both hands, and glances at youngjae. “what?”

“jaebum, my reflection.” the calm that coats his voice isn’t at all what’s filling his body. in fact, he’s pretty sure he’s trembling where he’s standing. not that he’ll be able to confirm it, what with his reflection _not **reflecting**_.

jaebum looks to the mirror without a change in his expression. he doesn’t have time to furrow his brow as he takes in just what is being shown back to him. his eyes slowly widen and he feels frozen where he stands. there’s a feeling growing inside him, the feeling that comes when you’re stuck in a situation you’re dreading more than anything but can’t get out of. that feeling of being stuck, of being forced to do something you really don’t want to do with no possible way of getting out of it.

because in the mirror, youngjae’s reflection is staring at jaebum’s own, his profile gentle in the light. where the real youngjae is gripping his sleeve and trembling like a nervous chihuahua, the youngjae in the mirror is close enough to jaebum’s reflecting that his shoulder brushes against his chest.

the two of them stand, rooted to the spot, when youngjae’s reflection reaches both arms up to wrap them around jaebum’s reflection’s shoulders, one hand cupping his cheek and pulling him closer to place a kiss on his temple.

“nope!”

youngjae lets go of jaebum and stumbles out of his bedroom quickly. he almost trips on his feet, smacking his shoulder against the doorframe, but he doesn’t care. he’s shaking now, worse than before, full on shaking and he can’t handle this. he doesn’t want this, doesn’t want to feel the invasion of privacy that he just witnessed.

jaebum walks out behind him slower, eyes wide as they stare unfocused at the floor. his hand is pressed against the doorframe by his head and he’s leaning against it. his harsh breathing is the only thing that fills the bedroom for the time being.

“my… my reflection just _grinned_ at me,” he whispers. he stares at youngjae; watches the way the boy immediately looks distrustingly at the full length mirror he has to the left of his chest of drawers.

taking the initiative – he can’t just let youngjae shake like that, like he’s scared and nervous and doesn’t know what to do but just wants to go home even though he _is_ home –, he grasps the younger boy’s hand and drags him out into the hall. he closes the bedroom door, even though he rationally knows nobody can follow them, and walks down to the living room.

“youngjae,” he says quietly. he’s nestled the two of them into the sofa, curling protectively around the boy who’s practically in his lap. “youngjae, what was that?”

his voice creaks like floorboards when he speaks, throat and mouth dry and tongue weighing heavy. “an invasion of privacy.”

jaebum pulls youngjae closer, tightens his hold on the boy in hopes to god that it’ll ground him; both of them. something familiar that’ll take the edge off the creepy horror movie shit he just had to witness. when there’s a face in his shoulder, he breathes out shakily.

“we need to tell mark about this,” he decides.

“not yet,” youngjae almost gasps, arms wrapping tightly around jaebum’s chest. he was not one for scary things; he’d always been the one to refuse outright to watching scary movies or hear ghost stories, he’d always be the one who would sit close to a trusted friend, ask to share a room with someone, cling to another person’s presence whenever frightened. he just didn’t _do_ horror. “he’s only just slept and woken up, we can’t worry him already–”

“okay, okay,” jaebum admonishes quickly, rubbing up and down his friend’s spine. he shoots a look towards the hall, almost expecting the reflections to somehow gain life of their own and come after them. “we won’t go to him just yet.”

“I don’t– I don’t like this,” the youngest breathes, squeezing his eyes shut. all of his senses tell him not to, to stay awake and aware of his surroundings. he can’t just leave himself vulnerable like this, but he has jaebum. he has his friend to look out for him. he’s not alone.

“I don’t, either.” the rubbing to his back doesn’t stop. “how is that even possible?”

“it’s, um, it’s a witch’s magic,” youngjae manages. cautiously, he turns his head and glares at the hall, sinking further into the space between jaebum’s side and the sofa’s back. “they can bewitch a person’s reflection to observe the real person whenever they pass something reflective only to return to the witch and report what they’ve seen or heard.”

“oh.”

“mark would never,” the boy’s quick to add.

jaebum starts a little, eyes wide as they look down at the host of the apartment. “I wasn’t–”

“he hates anything like that, spying on people without their knowing in such… unorthodox ways.” the trembling is slowly fading, but it’s replaced with a fire that jaebum’s not used to seeing in youngjae, in the small boy who hates conflict and stays out of it until it gets out of hand. “he hates reflection magic, it was the one thing he and kunpimook could never agree on. and jinyoung _wouldn’t_. he wouldn’t. he _hates_ it.”

this has jaebum’s eyebrows raising even further and he loosens his hold a little. they rearrange themselves on the sofa, more comfortable and less protective. but their hearts are still heavy and hard where they bang against their ribcages, not willing to let them forget that the flat doesn’t feel homely any more.

“there was something mark and kunpimook didn’t agree on?” the older man asks, wrapping an arm around youngjae’s shoulders to avoid a crick in his own shoulder.

“there were a lot of things mark and kunpimook didn’t agree on,” he answers matter-of-factly, hooking a leg over jaebum’s lap. “they happened mostly after you left, though. kunpimook thought it was really cool to be able to control something that wasn’t really real. intangible, you know?”

jaebum hums, nodding a little. he remembers kunpimook, the small boy with the round face and over-enthusiastic attitude that could rival jackson’s. the two of them together were trouble but unstoppable, eventually roping everyone in with them.

he smiles. “kunpimook also thought yugyeom was cool.”

youngjae relaxes further against him as he gets lost in a memory, a smile of his own on his lips when he laughs. “he was so upset when he found out he couldn’t touch him. sulked and refused to talk to us for days.”

“and then he goes and hugs him and almost makes yugyeom short circuit,” jaebum adds, smile wider when there’s gasping laughter and a firm slap to his chest. at least he can make his friend forget a little about the inconvenience of the morning.

the two sit there, quietly shifting amongst memories of their childhood friends; jackson clinging to mark’s arm and dragging a tiny, pouting jinyoung along with them for ice-cream, yugyeom running after them when they steal his charging cable and refuse to give it back, the camping trips they used to do in the tuans’ back garden, the talks of the future they’d share when they went to visit kunpimook, how the six of them promised to stay together forever and even managed to rope yugyeom into everything.

jaebum’s smile is bittersweet. back then everything had been so much simpler, easier. he didn’t have the worries of his family, work, money, school. he could just forget about the real, big and scary world outside and concentrate on mark’s increasing abilities, jinyoung’s jealous and wed stare, jackson showing off by flying a few feet from the ground when his wings start to get strong enough to support him, kunpimook impressing them all with water tricks.

“everything was nicer when we were kids,” he voices his opinion out loud and doesn’t miss the small sigh he earns, or the way youngjae tilts his head onto his shoulder.

“we were protected by parents back then and oblivious to everything.”

“you say that like it’s a bad thing.”

youngjae just smiles, wide and open, and jaebum reflects on how nice this is. all of it. curling up with youngjae on the sofa, reminiscing about their past, scared out of their wits by the present and not even wanting to touch the future. he thinks that maybe, he’s a little young for this. they both are. young adults thrust into a world that’s much older than them and runs by different rules.

but it’s okay. they have each other, and five other people they know they can count on. they’re missing three of them, three important pieces to their group, three important puzzle pieces but they’ll find them. he knows they will. if mark managed to find him, youngjae and yugyeom, the others will fall into place easily.

“we need to get kunpimook,” youngjae says quietly, evenly. he’s trying out the authority in his voice that one feels they’ve earned when they’re no longer kids. it doesn’t suit his image very much. “he’ll help us with all this reflection bullshit.”

jaebum searches for his friend’s hand and interlinks their fingers. “you know where he is?”

“sort of.”

he pauses and looks down with a raised eyebrow. “you’ve known where one of our friends might be and you haven’t said anything? how long have you been hiding this?”

“oh, shut up,” youngjae snorts. he moves so his back is against the sofa and both his legs are over jaebum, his rear and the backs of his thighs pressing against the older’s side. he laughs breathily at the disbelieving expression on jaebum’s face and whacks his shoulder. “I only really thought of it now, what with our talking of him. it would make sense if he was there.”

jaebum squints at him, narrowly misses another smack by grasping youngjae’s wrist, and finally relents. “okay, okay. but we need to tell mark first.”

the boy nods. “we need to tell mark first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [☆](http://visual-prompts.tumblr.com/post/139820835142/reina-prosthetics-studies-by-tekka-croe) inspiration for yugyeom's old look, now that i think about it, with his bolts at his joints and keeping his skin in a more panel-like fashion.
> 
> [☆](http://visual-prompts.tumblr.com/post/140988905552/victoriousvocabulary-cor-noun-1-anatomy) because this was too cute to pass up as an upgrade yugyeom got without knowing and is now going to freak out over despite the fact that it's _mostly_ harmless.
> 
> ☆ also, in case my comment above about updating tags confused you, i tried to hint a little at markgyeom and 2jae in the chapter because they _might_ become a thing. i maybe have other ships in mind, too, who knows. ♥


	8. viii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so you know how the last chapter was quite light and soft, just warm all over?? yeah, it was nice, wasn't it?? i hope it was a nice break because this chapter is _heavy_. and i mean _**heavy**_. it has a lot of plot and some conflict in it, which is always nice to read about!!
> 
> thanks to everyone who's been reading so far!! comments, kudos and even hits just mean a lot to me and it makes me feel insanely happy to know the amount of people enjoying this. i appreciate every one of you!!
> 
>  **warning(s):** violence, mentions/intentions of scarring.
> 
> please enjoy!!
> 
> —mack

the sky outside is grey and uninviting. rain falls heavily from above, hitting the window with loud _thuds_ that are impossible to ignore. the view is blurred and hidden behind the glass that is drowning in water. it spills down and gathers on the ledge before finally dropping to the floor below. some of it leaks through the window pane and creates damp spots on the curtains.

the air is fresh and cool, and smells like pine. it’s reassuring and wraps around him like a soothing blanket. the floor’s getting wetter the more the balcony doors are left open, but the figure standing on the threshold seems adamant to stay. they’re dripping wet, too, soaked right down to the bone but completely unbothered by their own state. the room from before feels musty compared to it now, filled with nature and something _other_.

the figure from the door marches into the room, wet footprints appearing along the wooded floor behind them. their face looks murderous, absolute rage flitting about in dark eyes; eyebrows drawn, mouth a fine line and wrinkles appearing on the bridge of their nose as they try not to sneer, it’s pointless to say that jackson doesn’t like jinyoung’s appearance.

“yah, you’re letting all the rain in!” jinyoung chastises. the doors to the balcony close on their own, curtains billowing in the aftermath. the witch has the audacity to look upset as he glances down at his floor. “you’re getting water everywhere; has nobody taught you manners?”

jackson is quick to the point, not bothering to beat around the bush. “what did he _do_ to you?”

he looks up at his friend, well aware of the picture he paints with two large bruises on his face, one hugging his jaw and the other spreading from his nose. they almost meet on his cheek. he looks away, unable to look jackson in the eye, and instead hides his gaze behind thick lashes. he doesn’t expect to see knees in his vision, or hear the painful thud as they hit the floor, so he starts, looking up in surprise, lips parted.

“what did he do to you?” jackson asks quieter this time. under the rage in his eyes, there’s sadness, concern. the crow had always worn his emotions on his sleeve, horrible at hiding them even when he was convinced he was the master of secrecy when he’d merely been a boy. there’s depth to the boy before him, and the unexpected realisation makes him choke on his words.

hands settle on jinyoung’s knees gently, and the necromancer knows he means well, but the dull pain that travels up his thighs makes him wince. it’s not the thing to do, if he doesn’t want jackson to worry. it’s not the thing to do if he wants to act as if this doesn’t affect him.

instead, he shifts his elbows further forward on the arms of his desk chair so he can curve his spine. his shoulders slump forward and he dares to meet jackson’s gaze again. he regrets it almost immediately. “he found out I kept information from him.”

his voice is small, but jackson hears it and his eyes narrow. jinyoung doesn’t know if he’s going to try and go after geun, if he’s going to fight someone, but he’s scared. so he reaches out, fists the sopping wet collar of jackson’s coat, and keeps him kneeling with as much strength as he can muster. they’re staring each other in the eye, challenging. they’re both as stubborn as each other and they both know it.

the crow doesn’t move, fists pressed firmly against his thighs. “don’t you have any remedies to help you heal?” his voice is low, rough. it feels like the promise of a threat as it washes over jinyoung and he can’t stop the shudder than runs down his spine.

he looks away, at the window and the rain that keeps hitting the glass. for a single second, he pictures it hitting his bare skin, then looks back at his friend and manages an almost cheeky smile. “that was more mark’s forte.”

jackson makes a noise in the back of his throat and jinyoung can feel his grip on his collar slipping. eventually his hand drops, arm resting on his knee. he breathes out shakily and hangs his head, closing his eyes as he concentrates on the sound of rain and jackson’s breathing. there’s a gentle hand on his arm, but it’s pressing into the bruises the guard left when he’d grabbed him and he flinches, hisses.

“he didn’t just fuck up your face, did he?”

the necromancer leans back in his chair, careful as he rubs at his forehead in exasperation. he rests his temple against a loose fist and watches jackson. if he was in better condition, he’d start playing around with his bottom lip. “no.”

“and you don’t want me to go after the son of a bitch?” jackson sounds indignant, horrified at the prospect. the frown’s back on his face, making his eyes narrow and wrinkles appear over the bridge of his nose yet again. his mouth pulls down into something sour and, despite it all, jinyoung manages to find it endearing. “how can you just sit here and–”

“I’m not just sitting here,” jinyoung cuts him off. he doesn’t move from his position, doesn’t even wave a hand to stop jackson. the boy snaps his jaw shut on his own, lips going pale with the force he’s pursing them together. briefly, jinyoung muses how they must look, like a master and his servant. “I’m screaming internally, killing him again and again in my mind because nobody does this to me without some consequence. I’m well aware I don’t deserve this, but I’m keeping you safe. you and mark and youngjae. all of you. if I take this, if I stay here with him and don’t do anything too drastic, he’ll give mark the time to find whatever it is hyacinth needs and won’t hurt anybody else.”

jackson stares at him. he’s quiet, which is unusual, but there’s this look on his face, this look of complete concentration, as if he’s deep in thought. his gaze keeps moving from jinyoung’s eyes to his bruises, switching back and forth between the black, blue and purple hues. “this self-sacrifice isn’t really you, jinyoung,” he settles on after a moment.

the witch blinks, confused by the – rather short – statement, but when a bitter smile grows on the crow’s face, he returns it with a sense of relief weighing on his shoulders. “I think I can put up with it a little longer.”

the crow traces over the ridges of his teeth with his tongue, eyes pinned on the bruise on his jaw. “is there anything I can do?”

jinyoung shakes his head minimally and motions for his friend to stand up, who follows his command immediately. he gets to his feet himself and pats jackson’s cheek. “they’re only bruises. they’ll be gone in a week or two, don’t worry about it.”

jackson’s eyes are wide and filled with incredibility as he watches jinyoung slip past him, moving carefully along the floor to a cupboard tucked neatly in a corner. “not worry about it? you want me to not worry about you when they’re very clearly mistreating you?”

“would you like to watch what you say?” jinyoung says, voice sharp and crisp. he sends his friend a look, gripping the mop in both hands as he rids the floor of the water poured in from the open doors. “don’t just stand there in wet clothes; take them off. I’ll lend you some.”

the crow huffs but starts taking off his coat and hat regardless. they’re placed on the chair jinyoung had previously sat on, water soaking into the cushioned seat, and the witch honestly has to stop himself from rolling his eyes. he manages to get most of the water off of his floor, still a little bit present enough that it gives it an interesting gleam in the light. he grabs jackson’s boots as soon as the boy has them off and places them by the balcony doors.

“I don’t want any of your stupid suit things,” jackson grumbles, hopping from place to place with his arms crossed over his bare chest. his shoulders are hunched and he looks as if he’s cursing the very day his friend was born. “I want something nice and _warm_.”

jinyoung glares at him playfully over his shoulder. he props the mop up against the wall and throws three layers at his friend, a long-sleeved top with a jumper and hoodie. there’s sporadic movements in his peripheral vision, but he chooses to ignore the way his friend is getting dressed instead for finding a pair of jeans that’ll fit. eventually, he settles on his thickest pair with a belt to make sure they don’t fall down when jackson’s flying around.

“I want these back, okay?” the witch says, hands on his hips as he watches the winged man wrestle into his clothes. “no losing them, no ripping them, no ‘sorry they’re out of shape’.”

“yeah, yeah,” jackson grunts. he’s got his tongue stuck between his teeth as he tries to sort out the belt, letting out a triumphant sound when he finally manages to get it at the right length, tucking it away and pulling his jumpers down.

jinyoung huffs and grasps the boy’s ushanka, outer coat and goggles, moving them closer and spreading them out by the heater in his room. “you can still wear these when they’re dry.”

the two of them stand in silence for a second. don’t misunderstand, they’re not awkward. there isn’t a pressure on them that forces them to speak to each other; they are more than content to simply sit in silence, or do their own thing while knowing they’re not alone in the room. it’s something that fills them with a security that’s nice and gentle.

it’s the witch who moves first, turning on his heels and walking to his bed. he crawls onto it, sitting a few inches from the wall. the crow follows, sitting beside him on the sheets close enough that their thighs touch. an arm and wing move around the witch’s back in a protective hold, forcing the man to lean against the other in order for them to be comfortable.

“do you think they’ll be able to forgive me?” jinyoung asks quietly, looking dazed and unfocused as he stares at nothing.

“I think they’ll understand why you did what you did,” jackson starts. “we’re a family, you know. all seven of us. and even if mark did realise you’d been the one to enchant youngjae’s gloves, he isn’t going to believe you’ve just upped and decided to go against everyone.”

he chews on his lip, ignoring the brief pain it shoots through his jaw. it’s a discomfort he wants, he needs, a small indication that links him to the real world. “I know what’s going to happen to them as time goes on.”

“you can’t do anything, jinyoung-ah,” jackson says softly. he wants to hug his fried, maybe squeeze his hip or rub his arm reassuringly, but with the way he’s sat there, almost as if he’s trying to keep as still as possible while not touching anything too much, it makes the crow think that maybe, his face is the least of his worries. “we all know that. I know it now and they’ll know it later.”

“we’re being played,” jinyoung grunts, drawing his knees up so he can place socked feet on the bed. he leans his head back on jackson’s shoulder and closes his eyes. “we’re being played and there’s absolutely no way out of this.”

the winged man’s quiet. he looks over his friend’s face, then down at his body, at the way he’s slowly withdrawing into himself, and can feel that need to protect flare within him again. it’s always been there, for all of them, but he knows he’s stuck alone in this battle, knows he can’t even take part, and it’s killing him. he wishes nothing more than to take jinyoung away from here, away from geun and to mark. mark, who can help with remedies and the ache. mark, who’s going to forgive them as soon as he sees them.

he hopes mark’s found people. he hopes he’s got jaebum with him and that they’ve found youngjae. he hopes to god they’ve found youngjae. the poor boy had his life turned upside down by a pair of gloves, and if he can’t have mark help him out, explain to him at least a little of what’s going on, it’s only going to get worse. he doesn’t know much of what’s going on, more he seems to find out what his friends suffer after it’s already happened.

but he can’t leave jinyoung. no, he refuses to. the man’s alone without even a hint of being able to find someone outside of this godforsaken coven to help him, to bring him that friendliness he needs. so jackson’s going to play the part, be the friend he has been for the past few years. they’ve grown up with each other, and it’s so much harder to let go now than any of the previous years.

“what’s going to happen to them?” he asks quietly. he doesn’t want to know, he really doesn’t. he hopes jinyoung’s asleep against him, fallen into the realms of unconsciousness and doesn’t answer.

but eyelids lift and dark eyes are staring at him. it’s almost lazy, the look on his face, and the contradiction is so loud that it makes his heart hurt. “they’re going to be in pain, confused, and lost in a realm that isn’t this one.”

jackson moves because jinyoung’s face has melted into one of pain, features scrunching up. but then there are hands fisting his – _jinyoung’s_ – jumper and a face is pressed into his neck. bruises be damned, he has a lap full of a witch that he wraps his arms and wings around protectively, keeping them in their own little world. it’s private and only available to them, hidden away behind dark feathers and shadows.

“we can’t win,” jinyoung whispers, and his voice is shaky and so thin, so unlike him it chills jackson to the bone. “they have plans for when the object is even handed over. _we can’t win_.”

 

 

 

 

_may 18 th, 2007_

“yugyeom! you’ve had your upgrades, that’s good.”

yugyeom stands just in front of the door to his master’s study. he waits there silently, not moving, with his hands tucked behind him. he doesn’t let his gaze wander from the man in front of him. it’s not that he’d get punished if he did something else, more he hadn’t been wired to do anything else, really. he was only an eight-year-old android, he still hadn’t gathered the sufficient independence to make decisions that would override the ones programmed into him already. androids were usually reassembled or taken apart around their tenth year so they _wouldn’t_ get independence.

the man before him is greying at his temples, hair thinning. but he’s still very much alive and well, strong for his years. he always dresses smartly – as shown today by his choice of trousers and shirt, with plain socks and the thick, chunky watch wrapped around his wrist – and refuses to let even yugyeom and his family see him without his hair gelled back and his shirt pressed. there’s a cheeky smile on his face.

master kang waves yugyeom away from the door and closer to his desk. it’s dark wood, polished within an inch of its life and looks so smooth under the light anyone would be dying to run their fingertips across it. yugyeom steps forward and stops just before the chairs placed neatly in front of the desk for visitors. he knows master kang is an important man, but he’s never had to question his work before.

there’s a quiet voice in the back of his head that sends up a message: _what does master kang do?_

“there’s someone who’s anxious to meet with you,” master kang says, leaning over his desk a little as if it’s some kind of secret. the android only blinks, tilting his head a little. master kang leans back again, turning his head and calling out, “hana!”

yugyeom looks to the side and watches as the door on the far right wall of the office opens and hana steps through. master kang’s youngest daughter at eighteen, she had been the most cautious around yugyeom once he had been bought into the family, but quickly warmed up to him and was easily the one who spent most time with him, even if he couldn’t find a reason as to why she would want to.

she looks nervous as she walks up to him. she’s a ball of cream and baby pink, skirt cinched at the waist and floaty around her thighs, her shirt tucked into the band and sleeves of her cardigan resting at her knuckles. her recently dyed hair is pulled up into two small topknots, the rest hanging loose around her neck and shoulders. she looks pretty, he registers faintly, and offers her the smile he always does.

weirdly, her cheeks colour immediately but she smiles back, big and wide and _excited_.

yugyeom eyes her for a second longer then looks at master kang. he expects some kind of order or explanation, something verbal either telling him what this reunion is for, or what he’s supposed to do next. but what he gets doesn’t help his foggy confusion.

“yugyeom-ah,” hana says softly. she reaches out for his arm and moves him to face her properly. he gazes down at her and offers her his smile again.

she steps closer and gets up on her tiptoes in order to reach his face. her lips are a little sticky when they press against his cheek, and when he focuses on them as she pulls away, he realises they’re glossy. he looks up and into her eyes, still expectant to find out just what is expected of him. she looks nervous, and her eyes keep flickering down to his chest. he wonders what she’s waiting for.

when nothing happens, her face shifts from panic to annoyance. her other hand comes around to grasp his other arm and she presses her lips roughly against his. they’re there for three seconds, maybe four, and then she’s glaring at his chest again. when she reaches forward for the neck of his shirt and yanks it down, her glare now reaching his new, artificial skin, his confusion breaks through the foggy barrier and spills into him.

hana lets go of his shirt – now stretched and hanging a little limper around his neck – and whips around to face her father. she no longer looks cute and soft, rather spoilt with her hidden sharp edges on show. “it didn’t work. why didn’t it work?”

master kang looks just as confused as she does, as his eyes rake over yugyeom’s form. the android moves under his gaze, returning to his previous stance and watching the father-daughter exchange with a curiosity that used to be heavily hidden, but now is only dampened and muggy.

“I don’t know, dear,” master kang settles on. he then looks over at her and raises his eyebrow. “the upgrade you requested is still very much in testing, he may just need a bit more time adjusting–”

“computers don’t need time _adjusting_ , father,” she almost spits, fingers curling into fists at her sides. “it doesn’t matter! he’s of no use to me. give him the upgrades you wanted to give him in the first place!”

hana sends one last glare over her shoulder at yugyeom – _a glare you didn’t earn_ , the quiet voice in the back of his head supplies – and stomps out of the door she entered. it slams shut behind her loudly, and if the house hadn’t been so well built, the doorframe would’ve been shaken a little loose from the wall with the force.

“well,” master kang exhales, rubbing circles into his temple with his index and middle finger. he seems contemplative, face caught in a thoughtful mask as his eyes watch the door.

the man then sighs, loud and forceful, as he stands from his chair. he circles the desk and places a hand on yugyeom’s arm. “it would appear you are now going to have to be of use to us. you see, we’re running a little low on income lately, and it’s about time you started gaining profit for your family, don’t you agree?”

yugyeom doesn’t respond, because he’s never been asked to, because that’s not what they bought him for. his eyes follow his master and, for the first time since he’d been rewired upon entering the kang family’s service, he feels himself wishing to voice his opinion. but he doesn’t. he stays quiet and is given upgrades that will allow him to bring money to the family.

and that’s how kim yugyeom is introduced to the sex industry.

 

 

 

 

_present day_

the rain stays but jackson doesn’t. he has work to do and jinyoung’s been summoned. it’s not what they want, what they need in that moment, but they have no choice. they don’t really have much choice in their lives any more, jinyoung’s convinced, and the dread that he feels is heavy as he realises his life isn’t his own any more. it’s sad, to know where his life is going and know it isn’t his own decisions that are going to take place.

it takes him several minutes for him to be able to compose himself before he leaves his bedroom. whenever he gets deep and heavy with jackson, it affects him more than he wishes it did. of course, it’s a relief to be able to share his thoughts, his feelings and his conflict, what he knows and what pains him, but it bubbles up under the surface, too. it pricks at him with needle-like precision and he can’t help but feel weighed down. he’s getting things off his chest, but they need to create a storm in his ribcage first.

his footsteps still aren’t as light as they usually are as he walks down halls. he’s not being mature, he can tell, when he glares at everyone who stares at him just a little too much, eyes lingering on his bruises. he’s never had bruises on his face in front of them, never shown what’s the result of his misuse of information or his powers.

he likes to think he still scares them when they jerk their heads away, spines rigid and panic registering in their eyes.

jinyoung is cautious when he steps through the office door. the blood he’d sprayed on the floor and on a shelving unit from the day before has been cleaned up, he dully notices. he wonders if it’s always like this, leaving no visible trace of whatever happens in this room. then he wonders _just how much_ has happened in his room. the feeling of ghostly, almost spiritual hands cup his face and he closes his eyes. that wasn’t what he was called for.

“geun,” he says, gathering the man’s attention. when he turns, there’s the smile jinyoung’s used to seeing on his face, soft and gentle and full of lies.

“park jinyoung,” geun greets, waving him over.

cautiously, the necromancer moves closer but chooses to stand behind the chair he had sat in last time. his eyes move to the other occupant of the room, noting how geun’s attention seems to be completely on them. he’s not sure why he’s been summoned here, why there is someone else other than him and geun, but questioning things only seems to get him in more trouble than it’s worth.

“park jinyoung,” geun says again, waving a hand at the third occupant, “meet sun qiu.”

the woman turns her face to look at him and, immediately, he’s intimidated. of chinese decent, qiu has prominent, angular eyes, a strong jaw and straight nose. the tips of her hair just brush against her chin, the angle of the inverted bob sharp and striking. it’s not so much her features that throw him off-board, that make his shoulders tense and his spine straighten to allow him to stand at his full height.

she’s not exceptionally pretty or beautiful; in fact, she’d probably blend into a crowd far too easily. but there’s an alert light in her eyes, a determination, cockiness, that bleeds out of her pores, leaks into the curve of her smirk and swirls around her in an all-encompassing aura. it makes her striking in a way beauty could never. she’s sure of herself, confident in her abilities and incredibly independent. jinyoung gets the distinct impression she doesn’t play well with others.

“jinyoung,” she greets, and there’s a strength behind her voice that makes him grip the seat just a little tighter. her eyes dart to his hands – he can’t escape the idea that she knows everything, all his secrets, all his lies – and her smirk merely grows. “it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

he bows as she does. it’s a calculated move, more of an inclination than a full bow. he refuses to take his eyes off her, and she appears to have made the same vow. their eyes lock as they raise themselves once more, and he fights the urge in him that screams _run_.

“sun qiu has made some progress and while I’m anxious to know what it is she wishes to share,” geun spoke up, demanding the necromancer’s attention before he continues on. it’s reluctant, jinyoung’s change in focus, but he follows through with a subconscious gulp. “I was hoping her eager nature to not keep lies could be an example for you of the kind of behaviour I hope from you in the future.”

he’s still deep in the fire. this is essentially a test, showing him a rival. that’s all she is, all she could ever be. she’s to show him what he should be doing, how he should be behaving. she’s a reminder of everything he’s not, and it makes him nervous. it makes him nervous because this could _not end well_.

qiu sits in the chair she had previously been stood behind and neatly crosses one leg over the other. the leather of her boots glint in the bright lights of geun’s office. “the reflection you required of me returned this morning with a bigger update than the last time we spoke,” she offers, her korean crisp and clear. she smooths her hands down her skirt to eradicate any creases.

her eyes are once more on jinyoung’s face as she continues, and he swears he can feel the colour drain from his face and pool at his feet. “the boy returned from the party covered head to toe in blood and is no longer alone.” jinyoung thanks all the deities he doesn’t believe in that the weight of her gaze moves to geun once more. “he’s no longer alone. yien has found him, along with two others, one of which spent the night with him recently. there is still no sign of hyacinth’s life.”

geun’s gentle smile has turned into something more disgusting; there are hints of the softness from before, but there’s greed and unaltered joy radiating from his face. jinyoung’s not sure if he registers some kind of hunger, too. he’s uncertain what it’s directed at – qiu or the information – and it seems his fellow witch is in a similar predicament, her smirk now looking plastic on her face.

“they’ve hardly made much progress in a month, hm?” geun asks, his voice breathy and heavy. the joy is there, excitement settling in around the edges. it’s the excitement that makes ice flow through jinyoung’s veins. “yien has managed to find, what, three friends? and there’s no indication they have any clue as to where hyacinth’s life is?”

qiu shakes her head. she looks a lot happier now that she knows she’s not the reason for geun’s hunger, the necromancer realises.

geun’s eyes are now on him, pinning him where he stands. he feels so heavy, feels dead on his feet. because that disgusting smile has turned into a full-fledged grin, filled with promises and _pain_. “it would appear we need to give him some incentive, don’t you think?” his features twitch, almost as if he’s trying to contain himself but just can’t. “I’m not a very patient man, park jinyoung. and considering how you’ve been doing lately, I think it’s only fit you’re the one to give them the message, hm?”

he doesn’t quite believe this. this must be some kind of nightmare, something fabricated because it _can’t_ be real; he can’t be getting beaten up the day after he suffered from hiding information. qiu stands up and he notices, he goddamn sees her in his peripheral vision. he doesn’t know if he’s in control of his emotions at this point, but he’s pretty sure his fear isn’t masked on his face.

“I see I’m not needed any more, I’ll leave to allow you to sort out the details between you and,” she turns, her gaze heavy and hard on his face. he can’t read her, can’t tell what she’s thinking, if she’s even _phased_ at what geun’s implying, “jinyoung.”

geun’s eyes are on him even as qiu walks away, her footsteps more thuds than elegant clicks. he doesn’t acknowledge the way she _doesn’t_ look over her shoulder at him as she disappears out the door, closing it as if what is about to happen inside isn’t a secret to be shared between the four of them. four, because jinyoung’s staring at the same bodyguard from yesterday, the same hitman. his body remembers before his brain does, the various bruises on his skin aching with his heartbeat.

before he knows what he’s doing, he’s walking backwards as the hitman steps forward.

“now, now, park jinyoung,” geun says, stretching in his seat to be able to peer around his hitman and watch the witch. “don’t make this difficult. you brought this upon yourself; we made an agreement several years ago. are you telling me you’re backtracking already? you’re not trustworthy, are you?”

the hitman takes a large step forward quicker than jinyoung can comprehend and grasps his arm, pulling him forward. he stumbles and then a hand grabs the base of his neck, palm pressing between his shoulder blades. he’s pushed, he can’t catch his feet, he kicks himself in the leg, and smacks bodily into a shelving unit. he slumps against it, feeling the tingle of pain running along his ribs and up his jaw.

“why do you have to make everything so difficult, park jinyoung?” geun is asking, but jinyoung doesn’t know where he is. he’s not even sure if the man even said anything, or if his mind is fabricating it. there’s a ringing in his ears.

suddenly, there isn’t wood against him any more.

a punch lands on his already sore ribs and he cries out – against his will, _high_ and _loud_ and **_short_**. he wraps an arm around his torso, tries to protect himself but two punches land against his shoulder and he _can’t_ , he just can’t any more. everything’s aching, old pain from yesterday is flaring and his eyes are burning. he thinks he cries out again when he gets a stomachful of boot and then he’s down on his knees.

“I don’t think he’s still learnt his lesson, do you?” there’s the sound of wood sliding against wood; a drawer opening. jinyoung’s mind is ringing, the only thing he’s capable of registering being the agony that has caught fire in his being. it crashes against his skin bodily, forcibly, and tears its way through his skin. “maybe you should try this? something more permanent might help.”

he raises his head. he doesn’t want to look, doesn’t want to see what’s going to hurt him next. there’s a flash of metal in the light; long, narrow and sharp. it looks so so sharp and he whimpers already, body creating more pain, more agony at the mere insinuation of _scars_.

there are footsteps coming closer to him, the blur of the hitman approaching him as if nothing; as if all this means nothing and doesn’t matter. who _cares_ if someone’s scarred for life? who gives even the _smallest_ shit if somebody can’t sleep for the rest of their life without thinking back to this day? _who gives a **fucking shit**?_

jinyoung’s slapped across the face with the back of the hitman’s hand. it stings his already bruised cheek and he cries out again. the force throws him sideways, centre of gravity shifted. his arm comes out in an attempt to catch himself, to keep himself upright, but his elbow catches on the floor as he lands and he’s sure he’s bruised bone.

there’s a strong hold on his shirt, pulling him to his feet and then the knife’s there, in his face and winking at him mockingly. it’s so much sharper than he thought it had been, his mouth going dry and he’s so scared. so very scared, terrified, _petrified_. it’s not fair, he doesn’t want this, he doesn’t want to, _doesn’t want to_ , **_doesn’t want to_** ––

there’s a shout.

but it’s not his.

he opens his eyes – when had he closed them? – and stumbles. there isn’t a hand on his clothes any more, nor a hitman in front of him with a knife. nobody has a hold on him and he’s so confused, breathing hard and smacking into a chest of drawers because his feet _won’t stop working_. the hitman’s on the other side of the room, having crashed into more furniture with the most dazed expression on his face. his eyes are unfocused and when he moves his head away from wood, the sharp scent of something metallic hits jinyoung square in the face.

he hears yet another shout, some kind of command garbled out, but he doesn’t care to decipher it, doesn’t care to see where geun is in all this mess. he pushes himself away and forces his feet to move him to the door. there’s wobbling all over the place and the doorknob moves form his grip too many times that he eventually forgets it and runs at the door, shoulder first and crashes through it.

the floor is cold and hard against him. it knocks the wind right out of his chest and leaves him gasping for oxygen, but he doesn’t have time. there are voices behind him so he gets to his feet and _runs_. he runs down the hall as quickly as he can. he vaguely registers smacking into people but he doesn’t apologise, doesn’t even acknowledge that he’s done it because he doesn’t have _time_.

the door to his bedroom slams into the wall when he enters, but then it’s slammed closed, both palms pressed flush against the wood as he mutters incantation after incantation, words spilling from his tongue without a taste.

a bang from the other side shakes him. he flings himself away as if burnt and catches himself before he falls on his arse. spinning around, he starts screaming jackson’s name in his head again and again, willing the boy to feel something’s off, or even get the urge to just visit jinyoung again despite the fact he was here what– an hour ago?

the witch grabs his biggest bag and mutters an incantation as he’s holding it, making it endless. he grabs clothes from the drawers and shoves them inside, shoes and books following. he manages to get most of the things he’s dumped into his bedside table into the rucksack and turns, intent on grabbing as many supplies as he can get his hands on, when there’s a figure at his balcony doors and frantic knocks on the glass.

jinyoung drops the rucksack and rushes over to the balcony door. the lock is slippery in his grasp and it takes him three tries to finally pull the doors open. arms are tight around him and it hurts but it’s _so good_. he clings back to jackson, arms around his neck and shoulder, fisting the material of his coat. only then does he realise he’s crying. tears hot as fire pouring down his cheeks and sobs squeezing their way out of his dry throat.

he wants nothing more than to stay here, in a familiar and safe grip, bask in the warmth that he knows will always be there for him like a blanket, but he can’t. not here. not right now. reluctantly, he lets go of jackson and moves to grab his bag again.

“what’s– jinyoung, what’s going on?” jackson asks him, looking awkward on the threshold. he takes two steps inside and jerks when the bedroom door explodes into shouting and loud banging, so much force behind the anger the wood shivers.

“we need to go,” jinyoung blurts out between whatever noises are leaving his mouth now; he doesn’t have a name for them. there’s nothing but blind white panic rushing through his system. “you need to take me to mark’s now. we have to– please, jackson, I–”

“come on.”

jinyoung closes his rucksack and secures the ties before he throws it onto his back, slipping his arms through the straps. he ties it around his chest and rushes to jackson. he doesn’t know when the crow grabbed his thickest winter jacket, but he doesn’t care, because he’s clinging to his closest friend and there are arms around him, holding him just as tight.

he’s pulled closer, off the floor and cradled like a baby. there’s blind fury behind the door and he hopes to god the locks hold up. and then jackson’s running and jumping, and there’s wind beneath his wings, beneath jinyoung’s body, and they’re no longer in jinyoung’s bedroom. the sound of fists against his door are wiped immediately from his mind as wind whips past his ears instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [☆](http://writing-prompt-s.tumblr.com/post/148257549387) robot sex partners are common for both sexes. at a companion market meet a partner and leave together. after a night of wild abandon you get up to use the bathroom and your partner is already in there. you look at each other and both instantly realize you were with another human. || prompt was used as inspiration for yugyeom's way of _'gaining the family income'_. so first half of the prompt is filled. i suppose the prompt itself could also give way to several good oneshots or multichaptered works, too. think of all the twists!!
> 
> ☆ also, i don't know how ocs are perceived in this fandom, but the ones i've been in before they're not normally accepted very well, so i do apologise for quite a few of them popping up!! i don't really listen to other bands in order to pop them in second hand roles during this, and i thought the roles themselves don't actually need to be _written_ as often as got7's parts, so it shouldn't be too bad.
> 
> ☆ i also love qiu very very much and want to recycle her and use her in _everything_. sometimes i hate creating new characters.


	9. ix

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this chapter is a lot more dialogue heavy than the others, i hope that's okay!! trying to juggle so many people in one same scene is the most changeling thing to write for me. i panicked when i had to do it with my own characters, being able to do it with got7 gets a bit tedious after a while. i hope i've managed to get their personalities right, still!!
> 
> i've chosen to resit two exams in september so my updates won't be as frequent as my studying hours are going to go up and free hours going to go down, but please still expect an update every couple of days!! writing helps me a lot, and since i seem to write best at night (i don't know why so don't ask me) and don't have much pressing things to do early in the morning, i'll still be able to follow on with this pretty closely!!
> 
> i hope you enjoy the update!!
> 
> —mack

jaebum stares forlornly into the fridge. his fingers are curled around the top of the door and he leans against it, feeling cold press against his cheek and caress the rest of his face and neck. there isn’t anything new inside from when he had looked inside yesterday. a brief thought flitters around his mind like a restless bird: _are you even hungry?_

he closes the door with a huff, cheeks inflating with the force of the air being exhaled. he looks around the kitchen, eyes drifting to the cupboards he knows houses biscuits, bread, plates and cups. there’s nothing that screams out at him, that makes his mouth salivate, and he decides he’s just bored. his hands want something to do, and apparently his feet had decided that taking him to the kitchen was a good idea.

yugyeom slinks into the kitchen, not looking startled to find jaebum there, rather like he’s been looking for him. it makes more sense when the android shuffles over and wraps his arms around jaebum from behind, hiding his face in the back of the man’s neck. both youngjae and jaebum had been mildly surprised to see the usually inadequately dressed android sporting three different layers. mark’s look told them not to say a word, and, honestly, they weren’t about to question it.

so jaebum just presses a hand against the back of yugyeom’s and leans against the taller body for a second. his eyes stay on the cupboard he _thinks_ he remembers some chocolate biscuits being in. “what’s wrong?”

there’s tickling against the back of his neck and the startled laugh flows from his mouth without warning. his shoulder hurts where he accidentally smacks it into yugyeom’s jaw. he whirls around, hand on his mouth, before he’s quick to rub his fingers gently against the – probably not going to bruise – skin.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, but there’s still a smile on his lips and his eyes are pressed into wide crescent moons. he watches yugyeom’s face and the sudden flash of bright happiness that had shot through him at the prospect of seeing the boy laugh is replaced by something softer. “what’s wrong, gyeom?”

yugyeom’s dark eyes are on his face, tracing every line and curve until they finally settle on his eyes. he raises his eyebrows minimally, moving the fingers from the android’s jaw to rest against the side of his neck, thumb absently stroking over the bump of his adam’s apple.

“am I enough?”

jaebum blinks, but never stops the movement of this thumb. his own gaze flickers over the boy’s features, trying to make out anything that the android wants to give him. but that’s the problem with someone who’s not human; they can rid their features of any emotion too easily. “what?”

“am I enough?” he asks again and _there it is_. yugyeom shuffles on his feet, fingers twitching where they hang at his sides. it makes jaebum’s heart speed up for a second, such a human reaction. “I’m only going to be as good as the upgrades they create, and even then there are several things they’re missing. I’m not even human, jaebum-hyung. am I good enough?”

the korean man just stares. his lips feel dry and concern bubbles at the base of his skull. “of course you’re enough, yugyeom. you’re more human than a lot of people I’ve met,” he says, voice a gentle lull. he straightens himself up, tucking his thumb away against his hand. inching his hand around, he pulls the boy closer. it’s almost heartbreaking how quickly yugyeom falls into the hug and clings to him.

“you’re better than your upgrades, too,” jaebum continues, leaning his head against the one that presses determinedly into his shoulder. “you’ve been working so hard since I’ve met you to be more than what you are, and it’s showing now, isn’t it? you’re as good as human in every sense of the word.”

the grip on him tightens and there’s skin pressing against his now, warmth on his neck and cheek and he thinks how this is nice. this is really nice. when he had been a child, it had been yugyeom who would find him crying and do his best to reassure him; yugyeom had been the one to hold him close and tell him that whatever the nasty kids were saying about him was wrong, full of lies and jealousy. it felt nice to be able to repay him, to give back exactly what he’d gotten.

so he gives yugyeom a squeeze, pats his shoulder and rubs what he can reach of his back before he pulls away. he holds the android’s face in his hands, forcing him to lock gazes with him. “what brought this on?”

he looks pained, as if he doesn’t want to give an answer, doesn’t want to breach the subject. the relief that floods through his frame is almost tangible when mark pops his head in the kitchen, hair still wet from the shower he’d been forced to take by the three guests in his home.

his eyes dart from jaebum to yugyeom and back again, then he jerks a thumb behind him, in the direction of the living room. “you guys want answers, right?”

the four of them pile into the living room, nestling together on the sofa. youngjae’s practically in yugyeom’s lap, one of the android’s arms circling his waist to keep him in place, with one of his legs hooked around mark’s; the witch himself has the back of youngjae’s thigh pressing against his own, the younger boy’s hand grasping his quickly and interlinking their fingers, with his hip pushing against jaebum’s – who’s trying as hard as he can to fit in the space between the arm of the sofa and mark –, with an arm thrown around his shoulders.

the proximity of all of them – or the complete lack of personal space, as it could also be called – feels like a protective blanket. it’s about time they stopped pretending this isn’t a serious issue that demands a lot of their attention. it’s about time they treated this like adults.

“why did you keep locking yourself away in the basement?” youngjae asks, eyes flickering to mark. the necklace the witch had given him is still hanging from his neck, despite the frustration the foreigner had expressed after listening to his and jaebum’s story about their reflections. even if it only has a placebo effect on him, he still wants to wear it.

mark licks his lips, bottom one being dragged between his teeth. “I recognised a… signature on the magic that had been fused into your gloves,” he begins hesitantly, already shifting on the sofa even though he has nowhere to go. “I didn’t want to believe it, so I took them downstairs to test out.”

“who’s signature was it?”

“jinyoung’s.”

youngjae stares with wide eyes and parted lips. yugyeom’s unnecessary breathing stops, his gaze unfocused as he stares straight ahead, losing sight of whatever he’d been focusing on before. jaebum feels his heartbeat almost painfully and hears blood rushing in his ears. mark’s eyes are pinned on his free hand, thumb running gently up and down the length of his index finger.

jaebum’s the first to react, jaw working for several seconds before he remembers sound needs to follow. “what… what do you mean, _jinyoung’s_?”

“jinyoung was the one who put the incantation on youngjae’s gloves,” mark repeats, raising his head to look the other in the eye. “I don’t know why, but I tried and tried to find something else, but there was _nothing_.”

“but– but he _can’t_ mean us harm,” jaebum says quickly, maybe just a little too quickly. he shifts his attention to youngjae, face almost expectant. “he wouldn’t try that, right, jae? he _wouldn’t_.”

yugyeom’s arm tightens around youngjae and pulls the boy closer, his other arm coming around the boy’s chest, hand holding onto his shoulder. he presses his jaw gently on the opposite shoulder and finally focuses his gaze on jaebum. the hold and the stare screams _protect_ and, fleetingly, jaebum worries for his own safety.

“I… I wouldn’t have thought he’d try and harm us,” youngjae says slowly. he looks pained, as if he’s fallen over and scrapped himself badly but refuses to let it show, how much he’s suffering. “but… but if he did that– if he’s the reason I––”

“we don’t know if you did,” yugyeom murmurs. his eyes flicker from jaebum’s face to the side of youngjae’s – allowing the man to let out a brief sigh of relief that only went noticed by mark –, who reaches a hand up to place it over the one on his shoulder, leaning back against the android’s chest.

mark tightens his grip on youngjae’s hand to get the boy’s attention. the witch’s face is the complete package of his usual self; eyes big and round, not completely focused themselves, lips thick and pink, parted, a sense of _knowing_ consuming him. “I don’t think you did.”

youngjae’s hands are trembling and he’s gone pale. he looks like there’s a ghost cradling his face and pressing their lips all over his skin. “you… how can you know, mark?”

“I don’t,” the witch answers instead, leaning inches closer to his friend. “I just have a feeling.”

the boy looks away, interlocking his fingers with yugyeom’s, and says nothing more on the subject. he shrinks in on himself, gaze low and breathing shallow. there’s movement on the sofa and he’s pressing even further into yugyeom, who welcomes him with open arms.

jaebum looks between his three friends and grinds his teeth together. there’ tension in the room, weighing down on their shoulders and scratching at their ribs. this isn’t how he wanted their reunion to go. but he supposes it must be inevitable, with what’s being expected of them, the job that’s being pushed on them.

jaebum wants to redirect the conversation, because mark’s right; they want answers. “what– what about when you passed out in the basement? what were you doing then?”

“I was… I was contacting jinyoung,” mark says, turning his head so he can look at jaebum. “I wanted to ask him what he was doing, if he was okay but… I don’t remember anything that he said.”

the second oldest stares. he’s had run ins with passing out before from exhaustion, but he’s almost sure that he can remember the minutes before he passes out. he’s had conversations where he at least has some indication as to what the subject was about. but with the way mark’s looking at him, eyes still wide and skittering over his face, he knows he’s not lying. he doesn’t know if mark’s capable of lies.

he looks away, out at the living room. it’s just as crowded as the first day he came here, about a month ago; there’s still plants everywhere, with stacks of old books, vcrs and dvds. cds he didn’t even know had been made are proudly out on display under thick coatings of dust. he thinks that it’ll feel horrible under his fingertips if he were to pick them up.

“mark, what are we doing?”

youngjae’s voice clears as he moves his head from yugyeom. he stares at mark, and jaebum stares at youngjae. yugyeom’s eyes are dancing around the three other faces in the room, dark and calculating. he doesn’t notice how they linger just a fraction of a second on mark more than the rest of them but, with the speed the android’s working at, nobody could.

mark doesn’t respond and doesn’t look at any of them. he looks straight ahead, out of the window and into the back garden. the grass is well kept and the flowers are vibrant – the few that bloom this time of year, anyway. there’s a tingling of pride in the witch’s expression, and jaebum has to wonder just how much the foreigner actually pays attention to the conversations about him.

“ _mark_ ,” youngjae says forcibly, trying to use the hand he still has clasped in his grasp to get the man’s attention. “ _what_ are we _doing_?”

but mark’s not listening; his eyes have widened as he stares at something outside, seeing past the glass and far into the garden. jaebum squints at his face, trying to see if this is good, bad, panic, excitement. before he can even think about looking out the window to try and find what it is that’s caught the witch’s attention, said witch is scrambling off the sofa.

“what––”

“mark––”

“hey, wait– ow!”

mark scrambles out of the room, feet thudding against the wooden slats. he leaves his three guests in stunned silence for only a moment, and then they’re all moving in unison, following after him and still shouting out their confusion, a mixture of frustration and exhaustion now prominent in them because this is _not normal_ , is it?

mark throws the front door open and steps out onto the porch, stopping several inches short of the stairs. he looks around wildly, arms spread slightly from his torso as if he’s waiting to grab onto something and drag it inside. jaebum stands in the doorway with youngjae in front of him, ever so slightly to the right. yugyeom’s right behind mark, hands hovering and uncertain.

“mark!” jaebum calls out over the sound of rain still pelting down from heaven above. he shoots his gaze out at the outside world and shudders. _so cold._ “mark, come on! we need to get back inside before we catch a cold!”

nobody moves. they all stay exactly where they are, three pairs of eyes pinned to the foreigner and one pair still searching around frantically. there’s nothing out there except for them, the tuan’s garden and the rain. and it’s confusing, leaving jaebum to squint as he peers through the sheets of rain, trying to see what could possibly have alerted his friend. he reaches out, curling a hand around youngjae’s upper arm and ready to pull all of them back inside when mark lets out a shout and legs it down the stairs.

“hey, ma– what the fuck!?” yugyeom shouts and before any of them know it, the android has also legged it down the stairs, socks be damned.

jaebum and youngjae watch in confusion as their friends boot it to the side of the house, pushing their way through bushes and desperately trying to grasp something hidden amongst the leaves. the two humans wander further onto the porch and lean against the railing as they watch on. it’s only when mark backs out after having been half-emerged, clinging to something, that they realise that it’s more some _one_ who’s captured their attention.

it’s something akin to a rush of emotions that wash over the two boys on the porch as they see mark kneel in the grass, cradling an – what looks to be – unconscious jinyoung in his lap, hands playing with wet locks and brushing them away from his eyes. yugyeom crouches beside them, gently pulling the rest of the necromancer from the bush and keeping him together comfortably. it stuns them all enough that they spend a good few minutes out in the cold weather, three of them soaked to the bone.

it’s only when youngjae tries to leave the porch that jaebum remembers his grip on the younger boy. he tightens it, pulling youngjae a bit closer. “mark! yugyeom! bring him inside!” when there’s hardly any movement, he raises his free hand to cup beside his mouth speaking louder. “ _now!_ ”

yugyeom moves first. he gathers jinyoung up, leaning close to mark’s ear and mutters something, or brushes his lips against his cheek, jaebum can’t tell. but then, the android is standing while holding the necromancer and making his way back to the house as quickly as he can, as he dares. when mark still hasn’t moved from his spot at the sound of wood creaking under yugyeom’s feet, jaebum lets go of youngjae’s arm.

“get the two of them dry,” he says over his shoulder, jogging down the steps. the water is cold and hard as it lands on him, forcing a shiver down his spine. he ignores the disgusting squelching feeling beneath his feet as he moves to mark. the witch is staring up at the sky, hands resting uselessly in his lap.

“come on,” jaebum says, crouching down next to the boy. he places a hand on his back, tries to edge him on. “mark, please. I don’t want you getting a cold––”

“jackson.”

“what?”

jaebum looks at mark’s face, the wide eyes tracing invisible lines in the sky, lips parted to allow his head to crane back as far as it can, a pink hue resting on his cheeks and the tip of his nose. there’s wonder in the curves of his features and _yearning_. he turns his gaze away, up at the sky, and that’s when the two of them spy the shadowed figure.

“jackson!” mark screams, and the sound is so much louder than any of them thought he could muster.

the winged man lands before them roughly, stumbling forward. jaebum’s immediately running over, ignoring mud and wet grass in favour of pulling the crow upright, hugging him close to his chest and feeling strong arms wrap around his middle. it’s familiar and comfortable and nice, the experience only heightened when he feels mark collide into his side, wrapping his own arms around the second newest addition.

 

 

 

 

“what happened to him?”

the living room is looking cramped with wet clothes strewn about it from all over the place and a heater pushed inside in an attempt to try and dry the wet material. it gets too foggy and warm for the six of them, forcing them to relocate. the kitchen is a bad idea, considering jinyoung’s still unconscious state, and the basement isn’t any better. so the six of them have piled into mark’s bedroom, going so far as to pull in the blow-up mattress jaebum had spent the night on the day he’d met mark so they can all sit comfortably.

the four of them that had been outside have changed clothes, with blankets wrapped carefully around the necromancer and crow in an effort to slave off any possibilities of illness. despite the fact that mark wasn’t as exposed as the other two, he’s the only one shivering in his thick layers.

jackson’s eyes are on jinyoung’s face, both hands holding a cup of hot tea close to his chest. “hyacinth’s man in charge wasn’t happy that you’d made practically _no progress_ in finding what he wants, and decided to make jinyoung your _incentive_ to work harder.” his voice is cold and mechanic as he speaks, face expressionless and wings drooping.

mark licks and chews on his lips. there’s a small jar in his lap, half-empty, full of an oil he’d explained helped with riding bruises faster, along with giving the skin a healthy amount of strength to banish any aches. well, most of the ache.

nobody comments on how yugyeom wordlessly insisted on having jinyoung’s head resting on his thighs, long fingers gently combing through dark locks while running his fingertips over the boy’s scalp in the most soothing manner he can manage. nobody comments, neither, how youngjae has been plastered to jackson’s side since the boy arrived, linking arms and making sure he can reach out and touch the crow at any time.

“he passed out while we were flying here, after yelling at me that you wouldn’t have moved house,” jackson continues, taking several small sips of his tea, eyelids drooping as he does so, warmth flitting through his body. “I don’t think he’s been sleeping well over the past few days, if not longer.”

mark gently cups a bruise-free cheek, running his thumb just under the curve of the man’s eye. his other hand grips the small jaw of oil tightly, knuckles paling with the pressure. “so they didn’t beat him to the point of unconsciousness.”

the crow shakes his head and immerses himself in his tea once more, averting his eyes instead to the way jaebum’s began fiddling with his rings, loosening their grip on his fingers so he can spin them around again and again nervously.

“what about you?” youngjae asks, hand pressing on jackson’s knee as he leans forward and into the man’s personal space. “did he do anything to you, too? should we be worried about you?”

“no, no,” jackson’s quick to shake his head again, lowering his mug from his face. “he didn’t get to me; I wasn’t working for him. I had my own job but I made sure to visit jinyoung as much as possible. he didn’t really have anyone else. I’m surprised they even allowed me there.”

“it does sound a bit… off,” jaebum admits with a nod of his head. he pushes his rings back down to the base of his fingers. “what’s your job been lately, anyway?”

“messenger,” he grumbles.

yugyeom slowly looks over, eyebrows rising and hiding behind his fringe as he says, almost disbelievingly, “you’re a _messenger._ ”

jackson jabs a finger in his direction, eyes narrowed and threatening. “one word from you and I swear you’re going head first out that window.”

there’s a small quirk to the android’s lips, the first time he’s smiled since jaebum and youngjae have arrived. it makes jaebum relax back against the bookshelf, managing to find a position that didn’t force anything to dig into his back. he surveys the scene, watches as yugyeom and mark’s attention is quickly on jinyoung when the man’s face scrunches up and he fidgets; youngjae leans closer to jackson, feeding him one of the small treats they managed to find in the kitchen.

he has to admit, he’s not a very physical man, despite the friends he has. he’s well aware that all of them are much more touchy feely that he is, and it makes him appreciate just how much leeway they give him. here he is, right now, just content with being surrounded by them. he’d managed to play with jinyoung’s fingers while the others had gotten changed and sorted out foods and drinks. he’d had jackson leaning against him with an arm linked with his for a long while. mark grabs his hand whenever their walking, youngjae always indulges him in hand holding or cuddling on the sofa, and yugyeom never misses the chance to give out the occasional hug or arm around his waist.

it's a nice touch, he thinks. everyone has their own personalised way of showing affection to everyone else and it never goes amiss.

the scrunched up expression on jinyoung’s face doesn’t last as his eyelids twitch then open. youngjae quietens from whatever he’d been telling jackson and mark’s cooing slowly gets lost into silence, too. they all watch as he blinks and gazes up at mark’s and yugyeom’s faces, seeming to slowly come to terms with where he is.

jinyoung pushes himself up onto his elbows and shifts his gaze around the room. he locks eyes with youngjae, jackson and jaebum, looking dazed. he turns his head back to mark when a hand is on his shoulder.

“hey, jinyoungie.”

“mark… we actually managed to get here?” jinyoung asks and looks right at jackson again, as if he’s waiting for the crow to tell him he’s dreaming.

jackson gives jinyoung a smile, soft and sweet and so jackson that it reaches his eyes effortlessly. “we’re really here, jinyoung-ah. we made it.”

“holy shit.”

yugyeom snorts behind him, eyes fond as they rake over jinyoung’s form. the necromancer moves so he’s sat between the other two on the bed a bit better, staring down at his clothes. only just realising he’s not wearing his own, his hands come up to touch his hair and he frowns.

“where are my clothes?” he asks, fingers still buried in damp hair.

“in the living room,” mark says, not bothering to be subtle about the way he places a hand on jinyoung’s thigh, squeezing.

“you were drenched,” youngjae adds, voice a little loud and startling the witch where he sits. “we didn’t want anybody to catch a cold, so we had to search for clothes for you and jackson-hyung.”

jinyoung just nods, letting his hands drop from his hair. he scoots back enough to lean against the wall and pulls at the sleeves of the jumper he’s wearing. the blanket bunches up in his lap comfortably. he brings his knees up and wraps his arms around them to keep them in place. a finger points at the jar in mark’s hand. “what’s that”?

mark follows his gaze unnecessarily. “a herbal remedy, I guess you could call it? I put it on your bruises, it’ll help them heal faster.”

“jinyoung-hyung.”

yugyeom’s voice is almost too quiet to be heard, but the necromancer still flicks his eyes over to the boy. everyone watches as the android moves to sit next to him, pressing their shoulders together and pulling one knee up. his gaze is cautious, focused on a thread that strays from one of the holes in the jeans he’s wearing.

he picks at it. “what happened to you, hyung?”

jinyoung blinks once, then slowly looks back at each of the other faces in the room. however, when he starts talking he decides to linger on jaebum. “a few years ago, a man came up to me and asked if I wanted to help a fellow witch out that had lost a very important item. I was wary, because it sounded suspicious, you know?” his eyes move to his knees and then to youngjae. “but he showed me proof, you know,” he looks at mark for approval, straightening one of his arms out and touching his inner wrist with his fingertips, “the marking people get when they bind themselves to a witch.”

when mark gives a small nod, he returns to hugging his knees loosely. “when he told me it was one of the most powerful witches of the city, I couldn’t really say no. it’d be the biggest insult I could give, so I said I would. I agreed for the first few months, but then they wanted to monitor me. by that time, they had information on me from god knows where and I wasn’t… free any more. I thought they were something weird, not a usual coven, and I was right.

“next thing I know, I’m presented with this agreement. basically, if I went with them and did as they were told, they’d leave all of you guys alone. they’d managed to find out where most of you were at the time, or had enough information that it wouldn’t be too long before they found you out.” he frowns, scratching at his calf. there’s shifting and then yugyeom’s curled up against him, cheek pressing against the necromancer’s shoulder.

“jackson didn’t like it,” jinyoung continues, shooting the man in question a brief look. “but I didn’t have much of a choice. I really tried to help them for the next two years, but we weren’t getting anywhere. there just weren’t any leads at all and it was getting harder and harder to get new information.

“one day, he told me I hadn’t done enough and he was going to go after mark to see if somebody else was capable enough to find it.”

mark lets his eyebrows raise at the same time that jaebum snorts and youngjae makes an indignant sound around a mouthful of coffee. jackson’s eyes are narrow again, clearly portraying his opinion of the man’s choice in words. he shuffles where he sits, restless, and eventually puts his empty mug down to fiddle with the blanket around his shoulders.

“the rest, you guys are already aware of,” jinyoung finishes, lazily scratching at the back of his palm.

jaebum stares openly at the bruises still present on the necromancer’s face – ugly colours amidst bronze skin that don’t belong there – and frowns. he moves, leaning his weight on jackson as he throws an arm over the crow’s shoulders, getting a wing gently wrapping around him as an answer.

“you haven’t told us how you got the bruises,” he points out.

jinyoung has the audacity to blink innocently in his direction, all round eyes and pouty lips. “oh! oh, yes. well, you see, when capillaries burst under the layers of skin, blood leaks––”

jaebum groans, half tempted to push his face into jackson’s neck to continue his show of exasperation. “don’t be a little shit.”

there’s the hint of a smile on the necromancer’s face as he shrugs. “I withheld information he wanted to know so he saw to give me a reason to not keep secrets. didn’t exactly work very well.”

mark fiddles with the lid of the jar. “he’s done this before?”

“yeah. he never normally used to go this far, though. I guess it really annoyed him when I wouldn’t tell him about youngjae.”

jaebum looks over at the boy in question, noting how colour has drained from his face for the second time that day. he wants to hold his hand and run his thumb over his knuckles, but instead he settles for jackson pulling the boy closer.

then, he looks at the crow’s face. he’s not surprised by the sharpness of the man’s features, by the way he practically screams rage. with the position jinyoung had been in, jaebum very largely doubts that jackson could have done anything to help and – knowing the boy’s urge to help everyone and _then_ himself – that fact itself is eating away at him. he pulls jackson closer by a hand on his neck, enjoying the way the crow complies without a word and even grasps his hand.

“so… so you didn’t _want_ to curse my gloves?” youngjae asks into the silence, looking boldly into his friend’s face.

jinyoung’s features soften, the pull at his brow and lips making him look far too young and vulnerable. one of yugyeom’s hands travel down the length of one of the necromancers’ arms and grasps the smaller hand in his. “no. I’m sorry, youngjae, I really am. I didn’t know who they were going to, at first. they just asked me to curse them to give them to someone who’d betrayed them. I couldn’t say no.”

the korean boy nods, pulling on his fingers. “I… I don’t know what I did, that night. I woke up at home and I was covered in blood– no one’s come looking for me, but I’m pretty sure people died or––”

“I don’t know what you did,” jinyoung says quietly, regretfully. he tears his eyes away from youngjae and instead focuses on the hand linked with his. “I don’t know if you went through with it, if you stopped.”

youngjae looks sick and he pleads with his eyes, his voice, when he says, “even if I did something, would it have been _me_? because it wasn’t me, I was _possessed_.”

“your soul won’t reap the consequences of what your body might have done.”

and that’s when they become two trios of cuddling; jackson pulls youngjae between him and jaebum – with some reorganising –, sandwiching the pale and unresponsive man between the two of them; mark using this moment to slip an arm around jinyoung and pull him closer, managing to play with yugyeom’s hair at the same time.

“I’m so sorry,” jinyoung whispers, stubbornly keeping his eyes from landing on anyone. there’s a pressure in his throat, in his chest, a burning behind his eyes and he _hates_ it. “I’m so sorry for everything I’ve caused you.”

because there’s more; more he wants to tell them but can’t, isn’t given the chance when mark shushes him, angling his body so he can hug him from the other side more efficiently. he sits there, smothered by mark and yugyeom, watching youngjae try to mentally cope with the idea that he may or may not be a murderer, jackson furiously trying to calm him down with gentle rubs on his arm and jaebum just watching the both of them, looking for all the world like a lost puppy.

 

 

 

 

it's early evening where we find them now; six men trudging along a muddy path amongst trees. the rain stopped an hour ago, allowing them to suit up against the cold weather and leave the house. a small bus fair to almost the other side of the city and wandering through a suspicious looking forest later, and they’re almost there, almost found what they’re looking for.

it had taken the four ‘okay’ men to coax jinyoung and youngjae into moving. jaebum and mark had set about cooking in the kitchen with the others sitting at the island. conversation had been slow, quiet, but steadily building. it seemed the saying _strength in numbers_ definitely held truth behind it, as youngjae came out of his funk, smiles hesitant until they were blinding yet again, and jinyoung was quick to let sarcasm drip from his lips.

the first time had caught all of them off-guard, but they were quick to learn this is what jinyoung had grown up to be.

dinner had been improvised and surprised them all when it actually tasted good. there had been hasty and messy notes scrawled on a kitchen notebook as they tried to recall – and figure out by poking around their food with their chopsticks – what it was that had gone inside. the list had soon been pushed aside and forgotten when jackson had almost choked to death on a large bit of meat when jinyoung and yugyeom’s latest bickering had left them all laughing.

it had been a universal decision and agreement that they needed to find kunpimook. youngjae had helpfully pointed out something from the boy’s childhood that lead them to the tuan’s library and then quickly to the forest they were in now.

the lake opened up before them, large and wide, with little bank and framed thickly by trees. the water is still and murky, small shapes swimming about underneath the surface. leaves and light twigs float gently on top, hardly any ripples disturbing their journey to who knows where. mark stops at the edge, looking left and right, scanning. with a wave of his hand, he leads them off to the left and stops when they reach several protruding rocks.

“how are we going to know he’s here?” jackson asks, smacking at a branch that had gotten caught on his wing. he huffs and tries to walk again, only to feel more branches poking at him, scratching at his neck and wings. with an attempt to bring his wings in closer to his body, he stomps after the witch. “I swear, if this isn’t his home––”

“it has to be,” youngjae interjects, moving to stand behind and to the side of mark, looking back over his shoulder to stare at the annoyed crow. “just because you can’t fit doesn’t mean you need to start complaining.”

jackson pouts, clutching his coat just above his heart. “that was mean, choi youngjae. stone cold. why do you feel the need to attack me?”

jaebum laughs from behind, the smile on his face easy as he pushes jackson forwards. “in case you haven’t noticed, there are still people behind you that would very much like to see an old friend.”

“an _old friend_ , huh? is that what you guys are calling me now?”

six heads whip around to stare at the new voice. mark lets the grin ride freely on his face, crouching down beside the rocks so he’s at the same height as the new face; jinyoung lets out an unimpressed snort but there’s a smile on his face nonetheless; jackson is having a fight with yet another large branch; yugyeom’s a little awkward on his feet, shoving his hands into his pockets; and youngjae and jaebum are staring, unabashedly, at the last of their friends.

“of course that’s what we’re calling you,” mark says, cocking his head. bhuwakul kunpimook looks him in the eye, nonplussed and mildly insulted.

“you guys never visited. all these years and all I have for company are these idiots,” he whines with a jerk of his head behind him at the calm lake. he swivels his gaze around the jinyoung, zeroing in on the bruises. “well, don’t you look like shit.”

“shut it before I throw a stone through your head,” jinyoung threatens, smile dropping instantly to make way for the playful glare.

kunpimook just grins back at him, batting his eyelashes playfully. “your aim is weak; you wouldn’t get anywhere close.”

the spirit laughs heartily when jaebum wraps his arms around the necromancer from behind when it seems the man is hell-bent on finding a stone to follow through with his threat, mockery be damned.

mark lets out a small yelp and leaps back from the rock. it had previously been damp from the rain, but was now soaked, covered in water that dribbled down the sides and threatened to wet his boots. a few droplets had already stained his hoodie and he pouts as he rubs at them. jaebum’s eyes blink at the rock that used to have their friend on it, hands cupping his cheeks and elbows on the hard rock, then move to a few feet further into the lake.

the water there bubbles for a moment, then swirls directly upwards almost six feet. it takes shape, the excess water falling back into the lake and forcing ripples along the surface until what’s left in its place is the shape of a short young man. water creates his body, murky and dirty as it’s forced into the curves of his face and figure. he walks forward, stopping inches away from the water’s edge and pouts at them, arms crossed over his chest.

“you guys call me your friend but I’m stuck here all alone.”

mark laughs and settles for grinning at the water spirit. “it’s not our fault, kunpimook, we’ve had a lot to deal with.”

“ten years! ten years of whining and lamenting and no matter how many times I tried I can’t leave,” the boy whines. the only way the visual could have been completed was if he had stomped his foot.

“you know you can’t leave,” jinyoung grunts, shoving away at jaebum’s hands and sending him a glare until he lets go reluctantly. “you’re tied to this place.”

“yeah, yeah,” the spirit grumbles, shoulders drooping and pout back on his face. “all the usual shit everyone comes out with.”

youngjae peeks around mark’s shoulder, curling his fingers into the back of the witch’s jumper to keep balance. “we need your help though!”

kunpimook looks at him, pout increasing before he dramatically drops his hands to form fists at his sides, pointing at his own chest with his chin titled high. “so you only come _visit me_ when you need _my help_!? how very _dare_ you!”

the grin on mark’s face looks as if it’s trying to cut it in half. jinyoung’s unable to keep the smile off his own face, eyes crinkling at the corners. he doesn’t complain when jackson practically drapes himself over his back, his own bright grin directed at the spirit.

“we do need you!” he says eagerly – so eagerly jinyoung’s forced to take a step forward in order to keep their balance so neither of them go toppling forward. “and because we need you we’re going to get you away from the lake so you can come home with us!”

the smile drops from the necromancer’s face and he stares at jackson in disbelief. even mark looks caught off-guard, mouth forming that perfect ‘o’ shape yet again, wide eyes darting to the crow. it seems everyone’s in shock of what’s fallen from the loud man’s mouth this time – youngjae gaping like a fish and jaebum feeling impressed even at such an _idea_ of moving a spirit from the place they had been tied to –, with a strained silence coating the group of seven men.

“aw, _hell_ yeah!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [☆](http://visual-prompts.tumblr.com/post/138963027974/theartofanimation-brittany-jackson) & [☆](http://visual-prompts.tumblr.com/post/144529929301/supersonicart-henrik-uldalens-rapture-at-last) visuals for bambam's character design, very heavily on the second link and last photo of the first (the flow-iness the girls have when they become one with the lava lamp... innards). the other photos of the first link could be bambam's companions while stuck at the lake other than the other spirits that are tied there, lmao.


	10. x

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry this update is taking so long!! i have... reasons?? apart from studying, i've been looking into getting my driving license, too, so that's taken up some of my time, and three other ideas for works have been introduced into my head and distracted me. unfortunately for me, i've also put words to these three works (even if they aren't very much).
> 
> they're all aus, because i can't seem to write anything else, and i don't know if it would be a good idea to post them once i have something written for them before this one is finished or after?? either way, i think all of them would get updated/posted with long-ish intervals, so it's really up to you guys whether you want to just see this one for now or want to read the other things i'm working on?? one's just a simple oneshot while the other two are larger, multichaptered works. i don't want to give too much away, but the oneshot focuses on a relationship between an alive member of the group and another who just happens to be a ghost, one of the multichapters is a mafia based au with polyamory and exploration of a diverse amount of sexualities (amongst which there is demi and poly, along with an aro character), and the second multichapter is a hybrid au (i'm sorry but not at the same time; this au just has me so _intrigued_ with it's possibilities) where it would be exploring oppression (possibly) and challenging people's expectations towards relationships and statuses and blah blah blah.
> 
> i tried really hard to only focus on one work for the moment (and i am not abandoning this!!). i have this one all planned out; i've made a bullet point for what's going to happen in each chapter and how many there are. we're now halfway through!! i've also managed to decide that the relationships are going to venture forth and become actual things, even if they aren't the main bit of the plot. so please!! let me know your thoughts on whether i should stick to one work up or various.
> 
> and can i just point out that i'm in love with [bambam's boots](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/Cq_NdD6XEAAqh0U.jpg) i want them and he is 100% wearing them in this work idc.
> 
> i hope you enjoy the update!!
> 
> —mack

“you’ve upgraded.”

“you’ve grown.”

kunpimook and yugyeom sit on different sides of the riverbed, watching each other with interest. the spirit’s form is slightly hunched, allowing his elbows to perch on his knees, eyes drifting over his friend’s face and squinting at his skin. the android just grins at him, flipping the pebble in his grip over and over again.

“does this mean I can touch you now? safely,” kunpimook’s quick to add, raising an eyebrow in question.

yugyeom just laughs but nods, smile big and wide.

kunpimook’s watery fingers trace over his hand first, traveling up his arm until a finger pokes him in the cheek, comical sound accompanying it. yugyeom’s starts then laughs, again, loudly, leaning back a few inches to get out of the finger’s reach. he looks over at the spirit and raises his eyebrows back at him.

“is that the best you can do?” he asks, grin never leaving his face.

“you won’t let me hug you,” the other whines, now resting his chin in his hand almost dejectedly. “I made you short circuit _once_ and you’ve never let me live it down.”

yugyeom weighs the pebble on his palm, looking down at his shape, and wonders how far he could skip it. “my skin’s waterproof now, you know.”

“you tell me now.”

“hey!” he’s tempted to skip the pebble right through kunpimook’s stomach, and even mimics doing so before wet and watery hands wrap around his wrist. “you touched me just now and nothing happened.”

“I can’t believe you.”

“yah!”

but it’s too late; yugyeom’s thrown off-balance as kunpimook launches himself at him, arms wrapping around his neck and chests colliding together. water immediately soaks through the material of yugyeom’s three top layers and his jeans, an indignant and rather loud squawk falling from his lips.

“kunpimook! would you– my clothes are soaked!” yugyeom whines.

“yeah, yeah, you’re going to get a cold,” the spirit grumbles, laying his head on the android’s shoulder. “just hug me back for a moment.”

it’s slow, the shift of arms around the watery body, but it’s there. it surprised yugyeom that he can hold kunpimook, considering he’s made of water. his form is sturdy and almost solid, pressing against his body and making him wonder just how potent magic can be. out of all of the information forced into his head, knowledge on spirits and those souls that passed on is minimal, along with any of the force they held within themselves to manifest or move objects.

“have you been waiting for this for a long time?” yugyeom asks quietly, momentarily leaning his head against his friend’s. his eyes shift to jaebum and youngjae standing by the trees. the two of them seem immersed in something, looking at each other, the grass, each other, the bark, the leaves, _each other_.

there’s movement beneath his head and he lifts his own. kunpimook snorts, “they need to get a room of their own.”

he feels the grin spreading quickly on his face before he laughs, hand coming to clap down once, twice, three times on the small of the water spirit’s back in quick succession. the boy lets out a choked sound and quickly scrambles out of the android’s hold and back onto the water’s surface.

yugyeom just continues to grin at him, batting his eyelashes playfully. he starts scrunching up his clothes in an effort to get as much of the water out as possible. although not facing him, he doesn’t miss kunpimook sticking his tongue out at him.

youngjae moves and sits carefully beside yugyeom, attracting the android’s attention and making him look up momentarily from his clothes, far enough from the water’s edge that he won't get wet, and drags a reluctant jaebum after him. "you know, bammie."

the use of his nickname immediately hooks into kunpimook's attention and reels it towards the two humans. his face brightens and he shuffles forward, the water that makes up his knees dripping onto the bank slowly and steadily. "yeah?"

"we've, um, we've had some trouble with reflections lately," youngjae says; nobody misses the way his eyes shift untrustingly towards the water. "you wouldn't, you know, have anything to do with that, would you?"

kunpimook stares him in the eye, face completely impassive to any emotion. "what kind of trouble?"

the young man frowns at the evasion to his question and reaches a hand up to play with the earrings in his ear. "at first it was just like a delay in reflecting things I'd done, like blinking or a twitch. but then the other day it... my reflection started hugging jaebum's?" his voice is small, the frown on his face now tinging with unease at the memory. "it felt like it was taunting me."

jaebum reaches around and calmly — and as subtly as he can manage — slides his palm against youngjae's and interlinks their fingers. "and when jae left the bathroom with his reflection, mine grinned at me."

the water spirit is quiet, eyes shifting from one face to another. he moves and easily places himself once more in yugyeom's lap, keeping the heel of his left leg outstretched and resting on the water's surface. he ignores the way yugyeom throws his hands up in the air, only to let them flop back onto the floor, when water seeps into his clothes once again. there’s a mutter of something along the lines of, _“what a waste,”_ but nobody can be sure. instead, he concentrates on getting himself in a position where he doesn’t have to strain a single part of his body.

"I didn’t have anything to do with it," he says, his tone making it very clear he isn’t happy. "first, you need contact with the person around a reflective surface. it's not just something out of the blue that you can do on a whim."

youngjae's face pales immediately. "so you're telling me that someone I've met is messing with me?"

"oh, they wouldn't have had to _meet_ you, per se. just been close enough to your reflection and brushed past you as they went by their day. you probably wouldn’t have noticed them."

"that makes us feel so much better," jaebum says monotonously, squeezing youngjae's hand. "thanks, kunpimook."

the spirit raises his eyebrows, crosses his arms over his chest. warm hands place on his thighs and the water that make up his legs swirls gently beneath them. “you’re asking me about reflections; about how it works to control one. would you rather I lie to you, hyungs?”

jaebum closes his eyes and breathes in a controlled manner through his nose. youngjae continues to fiddle with his earrings, eyes darting to the floor just to the left of him. it’s not comfortable, the silence surrounding the four of them. it’s filled with the rustle of leaves in the wind, the feel of the air on their skin heightening the idea that they’re in somebody else’s home.

yugyeom watches as youngjae traces a fallen leaf with his eyes. there are things other people experience, the android had learned years ago, that you don’t and it makes it hard to understand. it’s difficult to get the feel of fear or unease they felt in one position, to be able to replicate it inside yourself without being _there_.

yugyeom wonders if he’ll ever experience something like that.

“look,” kunpimook says, shifting uncomfortably and eliciting a grunt from yugyeom. “I’m not trying to scare you. but mark said that hyacinth’s coven is after us? that is some serious shit. and I mean _serious_. this isn’t something to be taken lightly.”

“we’re not taking it lightly,” jaebum defends quickly, eyes snapping open and staring the spirit in the eye.

“you sure as hell aren’t taking it seriously regardless,” he points out, tilting his head. “this world isn’t yours. I know that, mark knows that. we all know that. so all this threatening from people you’ve never seen or met that aren’t human doesn’t make sense to you. you’re thinking it’s not a big deal, right? that they’ll let it go when we hand over whatever it is they think we stole?”

youngjae’s nervous now; he’s almost yanking his earrings out of his lobe. “you mean they won’t?”

“the coven of one of the most powerful witches in seoul is asking for us to help find the most important thing so she can keep living and _you_ think they’re not going to want to get rid of us afterwards?”

yugyeom hits kunpimook upside the head without a second thought. he sends the spirit a glare when he has the audacity to pout at him. “you don’t need to talk to them like they’re stupid, bam.” the android raises his gaze to the men in front of him. “what he means is, there is a very big chance they’ll want us gone because nobody knows what object a witch uses to create that kind of contract. but if we know, we’ll be aware of what can be destroyed in order to kill her.”

“so—” jaebum doesn’t look like he knows where his mouth is going. he also looks like he doesn’t _want_ to know where his mouth is going. “so what you’re saying is that we have a _death wish_ for doing _nothing_.”

“it appears that way, yes.”

youngjae drops his head into his hand and covers his face. he frees his other hand from jaebum’s grip to hide his face properly and lets out a muffled, strangled sound that resembles screaming just a bit too much. the oldest reaches out to rub him between his shoulders, hand then coming up to squeeze the back of his neck.

yugyeom pokes kunpimook’s side, getting a sharp elbow to the ribs. he grits his teeth together and continues to poke his side under the spirit finally huffs loudly and returns to sitting on the lake’s surface once more. the soaking wet appearance of his clothes only makes him look to the sky, asking for strength.

“there isn’t— is there a way we can stay alive?” youngjae asks through his hands.

the android blinks, once again ringing out his clothes. “I would assume jinyoung-hyung has something up his sleeve. he’s very adamant against dying young, if I remember correctly.”

the young korean man rubs at his face then lets his hands slap his thighs as they fall into his lap. he falls easily against jaebum when the older man pulls him closer by his neck. the ease between them makes yugyeom smile. he thinks they’ll always be like this, friendly and affectionate with each other. no matter where they are, what world they’re in, he’s certain that they’ll be able to fall into an easy friendship where they’re comfortable with each other physically and emotionally.

his head perks up an inch and inclines to the side when he hears crunching from behind, warning him of approaching footsteps. when he finally gives up on getting water out of his clothes, he looks over his shoulder and spies mark and jinyoung walking towards them; jinyoung has his rucksack on his back again and mark’s holding a plastic carrier bag close to his chest.

“alright,” jinyoung says in greeting, quick to shrug the rucksack off his back and dump it — probably with less care than appropriate for its contents — on the ground next to yugyeom. the dull thud of glass clinking together can be heard. “let’s free kunpimook from this prison.”

the android snorts before he can do anything, already moving out the way to create a bigger circle. he ends up sitting on the rocks kunpimook had leant against before, still damp and gently soaking into the denim of his jeans. mark frowns at him, eyes zoning in on the damp patches on his clothes as he sets his bag down.

“how are you going to do it?” jaebum asks. his arm has slung itself around youngjae’s shoulders and his face looks more relaxed than it had been a moment ago. yugyeom wonders if the man’s managed to reel in his anger.

“yeah,” the other human pipes up, looking a bit more at ease against his friend. there’s also some colour back to his face, and he’s gazing up at jinyoung as if he holds all the answers to the universe. “I thought it was impossible to separate spirits from their prison.”

kunpimook huffs, body only formed from the shoulders up now, despite the shallowness of the water. “jeez, thanks for making this sound so nice just for me.”

“I could say the same thing to you,” youngjae shoots back with a sniff.

yugyeom blinks, looking over mark and jinyoung. he turns his head to scan the path the two witches had taken to get here, but comes up empty. the branches that covered the entrance to the path show no signs of moving once again. “hey,” he calls out, narrowed eyes now on mark, “where’s jackson?”

“jinyoung-ah sent him off to find something,” mark answers, raising his eyebrows. “and since you’re asking something, what the hell happened to your clothes.”

“I got hugged.”

jinyoung pops into yugyeom’s line of sight, shoving several small jars into mark’s chest. the witch is quick to cradle them close, taking the items without complaint. he looks over them and the android can see the gears in his head working. he wonders if the metaphorical gears tick just as his do.

“okay, mark, I need you to sort out the lockets,” jinyoung says, hands quickly fishing out whatever he’d been looking for in his bag — an empty jar. the necromancer crouches down beside kunpimook, opening the jar as he goes.

mark struggles with the jars until yugyeom stands and takes them from him with ease. the sweet smile that’s shot his way — just a sliver of teeth showing through parted lips — makes it that much more worth it. and he’s sure that, underneath the three layers he’s wearing, his chest’s lighting up with his imaginary heartbeat once again.

youngjae and jaebum watch in curiosity as jinyoung manages to coax kunpimook to hold a hand out, letting the water that drips off his fingers fall into the empty jar; the murky water looks even dirtier in the crystal clear glass. youngjae’s quick to glance over at mark and watch as he starts gathering twigs from the bank until he has a small pile.

the witch snaps off the smaller twigs that branch off and then breaks the twigs into what seem to be calculated lengths. any leaves that clung along are quickly pulled off and put aside. when mark rolls up his sleeves to his elbow, allowing the vines and flowers that cover his forearms and hands to be on show as he works, jaebum finally looks over and spots the look on yugyeom’s face: gentle, soft amazement. he contemplates that it almost looks like yugyeom thinks mark’s too good to be true.

the three spectators watch in curiosity as mark’s mouth begins to move, words breathed into the air before him as he manages to twist the bits of broken twig together, getting each part to wind around the other in a way they’re all completely sure would normally cause the wood to _snap_. but it doesn’t; it’s pliant under mark’s fingers, soft as clay and easily coerced into whatever shape. even kunpimook has shifted so he can peer at the witch from around jinyoung’s shoulder.

and that’s when the loud sound of flapping from above has them all looking up. except mark, who seems as if he’s possessed in his work, if the way his eyes glaze over and completely unfocus has anything to say.

jackson lands a few feet away, breathing hard. his wings are quick to press against his back and he shoves his goggles up onto his forehead with one hand; his other hand is clutching a make-shift bouquet filled with what jaebum can only guess to be wildflowers that he thinks he remembers seeing as they made their way to the lake.

the crow moves, chest heaving from exertion, and waves the bouquet in jinyoung’s general direction. youngjae takes pity on the man and gently tugs on the necromancer’s sleeve, nodding over at jackson when dark eyes fall on his face.

jinyoung looks at the bouquet and smiles easily, reaching out with his free hand. “thanks, jacks,” he says earnestly, laying the flowers in youngjae’s lap and sorting through them quickly. “these are good.”

“I didn’t know… which ones you wanted,” he breathes out, sitting on youngjae’s other side and leaning heavily against him, making him almost push jaebum into the water. “so I got as many…. as I could.”

“you did good, jacks,” jinyoung says, turning his head to look at the jar. “you can rest.”

jaebum wiggles his fingers from where they’re dangling from youngjae’s shoulder, catching jackson’s attention. when round eyes look at his face, he juts his chin out, towards the crow’s own hand. it takes a second for the winged man to get the memo, but is quick to link their fingers as comfortably as he can manage.

it seems weird, to be sat in the middle of a forest by a lake in silence for five minutes. two people at work, one still looking as if he’s daydreaming while he’s working, hunched over with nimble fingers bending wood to his will, and the other staring intently at the murky water as if it’s the most interesting thing on the planet. from an outside view, jaebum’s sure they’d get asked if they’re not comfortable with each other, if it’s forced, their relationship.

but the truth is, it’s nice. being able to see small bits of his friend’s world when it isn’t threatening. it feels like he’s being welcomed into something so natural, something that he doesn’t need to worry about. there’s no weight on his shoulders that tells him to keep a look out, there isn’t a scratching under his skin that that makes him feel uncomfortable. when he’s here, able to see mark lose himself in what he is, jinyoung not far behind as he cups the full jar in both hands and murmurs under his breath, he feels so at ease it borders on concern.

jinyoung turns and moves closer to mark. the witch takes the jar from the necromancer, eyes pinned on the water it holds. he turns and shuffles over to yugyeom, tapping the tops of three jars in his hold. the android is quick to unscrew the tops and watches as varying measurements of each content is poured into the water. he screws the lid back onto the jar and shakes it, thoroughly mixing the contents.

he shuffles back to his previous post, making sure the lockets are placed carefully on the floor, as evenly as possible, and pours the water carefully into each of them, making sure it doesn’t reach the edge. he moves and reaches out for the flowers on youngjae’s lap, fingers skittering along until he finally selects two.

taking the heads of the flowers off the stems, he’s slow and precise when he submerges them as much as he can and continues to pour the water in until it reaches the rim, a little trickling out. one of mark’s hands covers one locket while he links his other with jinyoung’s; the necromancer also covering a locket with his hand.

the two witches close their eyes and murmur in unison, their voices too quiet and the language too distinct for jaebum to make it out. he’s not sure, but he’s almost convinced he can see light peeking through his friends’ fingers that fades after a few seconds.

jinyoung slowly peels his hand away and stares at the homemade locket; the water has solidified and shines like glass in the light with the flower perfectly centred. he lets go of mark’s hand and redirects his attention to his rucksack once more, searching around until he manages to pull out what looks to be a ribbon.

standing, he slips the ribbon through the loop of one of the lockets and moves towards the water, where kunpimook is still only materialized from the shoulders upwards. “I’m going to need you to stand up completely.”

as the spirit slowly rises from the water, eyeing the locket warily but not stepping any further away, mark is quick to get to his feet and move next to them, holding out his hands, palms up, towards the water spirit.

“take mark’s hands,” jinyoung instructs.

kunpimook’s eyes are reluctant to leave the locket, and search for the offered hands quickly, grasping them firmly without much hesitance. he lifts his gaze to switch between the two witches’ faces, dragging his bottom lip between his teeth for a single second.

jinyoung looks at him expectantly as he raises his hands to the boy’s neck, quick to get the locket to settle at the base of kunpimook’s throat, using the ribbon it’s on to wrap it snuggly around his neck like a choker. there’s another whispered spell, a final one, and the ribbon melts together until it’s one continuous loop of material.

the gasp that kunpimook lets out as he staggers a step forward is the most distressing thing jaebum thinks he’s ever heard.

he’s quick to his feet, spying jackson in his peripheral vision also pushing himself up, taking quick steps until he’s standing behind jinyoung. the necromancer holds an arm out, taking a step back himself and they all stare at the boy clinging to mark as if his life depends on it.

shallow water laps at his boots where he stands, jeans tucked into them neatly. bronze skin peaks out from the jumper that clothes his torso and dark hair hangs in front of his face, obscuring his vision. the witches watch him carefully, mark easing his arm around kunpimook’s front and urging him to rest his head on his shoulder. the other four stare, open mouthed, at what once used to be a spirit they could easily see through and now seems to be a man just as real and solid as the rest of them.

 

 

 

 

“you’re corporeal for the first time in your life and all you want to do is eat,” jaebum says disbelievingly, staring at kunpimook as they slide into a booth with ease.

the boy sends him a grin. he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the idea of seeing those full lips, high cheekbones and dark eyes in such sharp definition and colour. “I didn’t have to eat before. are you going to deny me the chance to now?”

youngjae snorts as he moves to sit next to jaebum, leaning back and letting out a sigh as his back is cushioned and given the support it needs. yugyeom sits at the end of the table, pulling jinyoung towards youngjae. the necromancer shoots one last look at mark and jackson currently standing at the back of the queue then finally gives in and sits down.

“what else would you suggest I do?” kunpimook questions, drumming his fingers along the surface of the table.

“I would have thought you’d be obsessed with looking around at everything that wasn’t the lake,” yugyeom answers honestly, playing with one of the rings present on jinyoung’s hand.

the spirit snorts but fingers the locket nevertheless. nobody misses the sense of ease that washes over his features at the action.

“how did you manage to do it, anyway?” youngjae asks, turning his head to look at the necromancer. “I thought it wasn’t possible.”

“it wouldn’t have been without someone who has a connection to the dead,” he merely offers with a shrug. “it’s dealing with spirits, even if kunpimook has never actually lived. mark wouldn’t have been able to do it by himself; the essence needed that would keep the spirit and the lake connected wouldn’t have existed.”

youngjae nods minimally.

jaebum leans forward, elbows on the table, and fiddles with the napkin dispenser. “what’s the second one for?”

jinyoung reaches to feel the second locket made that hangs around his neck from a silver chain, tucked carefully under his own layers. the rest of the world has no need to know. “it gives it power, if you will.”

the man looks over, face emotionless. “don’t tell me this is one of those stupid instances where you’re dying just so he can live.”

“yah!” he laughs loud, hand coming up to hide his smile but the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes gives his joy away. “no, no. it’s nothing like that. it needs only a little magic to be able to continue working. otherwise it would have finished before we’d even got here.”

kunpimook scrunches up his nose. “so I’m your slave.”

“more like you’re indebted to me,” he says with a smirk, dropping his hand and looking just _this side_ of smug.

their attention is drawn by yugyeom’s chair scraping against the floor as he moves out of the way, jackson appearing seconds later holding a tray fit to burst. he places it as gently as he can on the table and then turns around and returns to mark’s side, grabbing yet another tray while the witch pays.

the food that is on the trays is a mixture of baked goods and sandwiches; light things that couldn’t really be counted as a full meal but would be enough to keep them satisfied for a little longer until they all decided what they were going to eat and where. drinks were also quickly handed out, jackson slipping in next to kunpimook and mark after him.

it’s with amazement that the six of them watch kunpimook devour two sandwiches and a muffin in under five minutes. it’s not normal, surely, and would probably give the poor boy indigestion later, but they don’t have the heart to stop him, and instead fight for their own food which they quickly quarantine off into the furthest part of the table, away from his reach. it’s all in good nature, that they laugh at his pouting and whining and eventually share.

nobody really complains when they go back yet again to get more.


	11. xi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so my exams finished thursday!! i'm now free, lmao. i've spent the past few days in a mixture between sleeping, relaxing and writing. i'm absolutely mentally exhausted still and feel like anything that requires a lot of attention from me, or detail, is just _this side_ of too much work. but i really wanted to get this chapter out!! because, you know, i don't want to keep you guys waiting for too long!!
> 
> so i'm sorry for the wait but i'll still need a few more days to get back sleep and energy, so the next few updates will also probably take a bit longer than usual. also, i'm really liking writing from youngjae's point of view, or just youngjae in general. maybe i should write something youngjae-centric in the future??
> 
> please enjoy!! i haven't proofread a lot of this update yet because i really want to get it out there so if there are any typos, let me know and i'll read through it/fix them tomorrow morning.
> 
> —mack

after the chaotic turn his life had taken, the last thing jaebum expects is to be pushing a half-filled trolley down an aisle of their local supermarket.

nobody bats an eyelash when the seven of them topple inside, grasping a trolley as they pass by. they must not look like much, he guesses; just seven young men going down aisle after aisle with one taking charge, three running about like children and whining about food they wish they could buy, two holding hands and acting far too much like a couple stuck in their own world, and the last slouched against the trolley’s bar and pushing it along wordlessly.

they’re a family. maybe a little dysfunctional, loud and full of too much spirit, but they’re a family and they love each other. it’s a brief contrast to how his life had been a good month or so ago. it had been so quiet and uneventful when he thinks back now, and there hasn’t even been much happening so far! sure, the illusion of his headstone and finding yugyeom in the attic had been interesting and made his heart stop in his chest, but it feels so… lacking.

maybe this shows just how ignorant as a human he is, all this expectation. maybe he’s been conditioned to think that as soon as he steps into the other world — the world that lives side by side with his own, not a secret but still just a little _taboo_ — his whole world will blow up and he’ll be stuck running for his life or surrounded constantly by some kind of magic.

yet, here he is, standing off to the side as he watches jinyoung try and tell both jackson and kunpimook that _no, we don’t need five whole chickens **put them back** now._

“aw, come on! we all love chicken and we’ll go through them before you know it!” kunpimook protests, clinging to jackson’s arm with both of his and leaning closely to jinyoung.

jinyoung’s nose wrinkles. “what makes you think we’re going to be even cooking _chicken_?”

jackson’s expression falls and the look of both shock and offence fills every corner of his face. “park jinyoung, don’t play with me.”

“hey, don’t forget!” mark calls out from several feet in front of them where he’s now shoved yugyeom’s hand into his pocket. the android looks ridiculously happy with this prospect. “we’re buying food for _my house_!”

kunpimook points an accusing finger at the necromancer. “then convince him that we need five chickens!”

“do you really think you’re going to be in my home enough to _eat_ five chickens?”

the betrayal that leaks into jackson and kunpimook’s stances is loud and immediate. jaebum drags his eyes away to youngjae when that gasping, loud laugh reaches his ears, the man’s hands curled half-heartedly into fists that he brings up to his chest, almost as if they’ve forgotten on the trip up to clap or cover his mouth. it’s cute and sweet and so _youngjae_ he smiles despite himself.

there’s pressure against his side and he turns his head to spy large, round eyes staring up at him. jackson’s wings wrap around him as he’s cuddled and all he does is raise his eyebrows in question as he waits.

“jaebum-hyuuuung,” jackson whines. the use of the hardly used honorific does not go unnoticed. “can we get some chicken, please?”

“what does your mother say?” he asks, unmoving. the fight to keep the smile off his face is almost too difficult, but he _just_ manages.

“we could fry it! or cook it in ginger, or make it sweet and sour,” the crow continues to try, now squeezing jaebum’s arm and pushing himself up onto his tiptoes so they're level.

now he finds the use of wings to shield the two from the rest of their friends a smart and calculated move. he can’t lock eyes with jinyoung, can’t come to a wordless agreement. it isn’t necessary, either way, when jackson yelps loud like a wounded animal as he’s yanked back and away from jaebum.

“we’re not getting chicken,” jinyoung says coldly, pushing the winged man towards kunpimook. “mark doesn’t want chicken so we don’t get chicken.”

“but.”

jinyoung dumps yoghurt into the trolley and sends a glare over his shoulder. “get your own house and you can buy as much chicken as you want.”

“this isn’t going to end well,” youngjae announces to no-one in particular, but chooses to move closer to jaebum. he fiddles with his hat as he shoots a look over to mark and yugyeom, who seem to be ignoring the rest of them, standing close under the pretence of inspecting a brand of jelly.

“fine!” kunpimook stands up straight and tilts his chin up. jaebum gets the idea that he’s trying to be an adult. “we’ll get our own house and fill it to the brim with chicken!”

“where are you going to get a house!?” jinyoung looks like he’s close to losing it, too, colour leaking into his face as he jabs a finger rather violently at the two of them. “you don’t have a job!”

“neither do you!” jackson retorts, just as loud.

“hey! at least I’ve considered looking for one!”

youngjae leans closer to jaebum, placing a hand on the man’s arm. “has he?”

“I don’t think so.”

youngjae chews on his inner cheek and watches the three men squabble in the middle of the aisle. every time another customer walks past either entrance of the aisle they stare unabashedly at the argument before moving on. an old woman tries to waddle down but can’t get her basket past the three men. jaebum sends her an apologetic look as she mutters under her breath.

the two humans slowly begin walking up the aisle until they’re standing next to the witch and the android.

something’s changed between them, jaebum thinks. he’s not sure when it happened, or what happened — his friends still have their privacy, and he doesn’t hang around them 24/7, not that he’d want to; he wants his own privacy and his own life — but _something’s_ happened. they stand closer, their touches linger and there’s something about the both of them that signals that there’s something _more_.

jaebum follows the way yugyeom’s fingers brush purposefully against mark’s as he pulls away in order to accommodate the two new additions. part of jaebum wishes he wouldn’t, the other part finds himself transfixed by the smile on mark’s face.

“someone needs to sort them out,” youngjae says. his face is washed over in worry and he’s beginning to wring his hands, pulling on his sleeves.

mark follows his gaze. it’s not a true fight — they are all well aware of what a true fight involving each of them looks like; or, at least, they can imagine — but it’s slowly getting bigger in volume and violence.

“they won’t listen to me,” yugyeom says almost forlornly. “I’m the youngest now. I have no chance.”

jaebum feels his back pop when he stands straight, forcing his eye to twitch. he stares at the way jinyoung smacks kunpimook upside the head which is quickly followed by a playful shove from jackson who ruffles his feathers.

“I really don’t want to get between that,” mark says bluntly. “I don’t have the energy to sort them out.”

the korean man frowns and looks at the foreigner. “are you telling me you’re forcing me to go and deal with them?”

mark beams at him, all teeth and dimples. “you were almost more of a leader, anyway.”

he is not amused. he is the least amount of amused he’s ever been. regardless, he still pushes away from the group and wanders over to the trio. one hand clasps around the back of kunpimook’s neck while the other rests around jinyoung’s, effectively pulling the two apart but keeping them close enough to see the other’s expression and jaebum’s own. a tense moment of silence passes, jackson’s gaze snapping between the three of them.

“we still have half a shopping list to go through,” is all jaebum says, shooting a pointed look at the winged man before him.

jackson rushes around them and almost bounds over to mark, hiding behind the witch and peering over his shoulder with large eyes. kunpimook immediately goes docile and keeps his eyes trained on jaebum’s face, hands hanging limp by his sides. jinyoung takes a moment to breathe through his nose and throws a look at the shopping list in his hand.

“we need bread!” he announces and slips out of the human’s grip, whirling around and marching purposefully down the hall. when he passes the group of four, he links arms with a startled youngjae and pulls the boy along with him.

jaebum pulls kunpimook along, giving a small shove until the spirit is taking off after jinyoung and youngjae, yelling something about being of help and getting what’s next on the list. mark is pulled along by jackson, who reaches out to grasp yugyeom’s sleeve and guide him along too. jaebum sighs as he’s once again left with pushing the trolley.

the seven of them work in a united chaos, gathering the food written on the list. there’s an almost constant need to rearrange the contents of the trolley, jaebum yelling more than once or twice about how everything is going to spill out over the edges. somehow, the seven of them manage to get all the food onto the conveyer and paid for, shoving it all into bags and then back into the trolley.

one large dysfunctional but loving family.

 

 

 

 

kunpimook grasps jinyoung’s hand and pulls him out of the supermarket. the sky is darkening and the light from the lampposts illuminates yellow circles of pavement. “you know we didn’t mean it. mostly.”

the necromancer’s eyes move to look at the spirit out of the corner of his eye, one eyebrow raised almost arrogantly. “mostly?”

“we _really_ like chicken,” he defends himself as innocently as he can. his shoulders raise in an almost ‘what can you do?’ kind of way.

“I never would have guessed.” jinyoung huffs and looks forward as they start walking. neither of them comment when he interlinks their fingers, pulling kunpimook closer as a stranger approaches. the sounds of the others exiting the store feels like background noise, calming and soothing yet indistinguishable.

in the dimming light it’s hard to see what’s being held in the stranger’s hands, or even to notice their appearance. so when they meet under the lamppost and jinyoung can finally rake his eyes up and down the figure, he finds surprise and curiosity settling in his bones.

“take it,” they practically shout, looking ragged and tired. there are bags under their eyes, their clothes dirty and hair a mess. they push whatever they’re holding into kunpimook’s chest, making the man stumble back and grasp it with both hands. jinyoung’s hand instinctively reaches out and grabs hold of the water spirit’s sleeve to steady him. “it’s annoying and won’t shut up. just _take it_.”

kunpimook and jinyoung send each other a look, surprise filling them to the brim and pouring out over the top. there’s a bump behind them, jackson almost toppling head first into the duo with an annoyed jaebum snapping at him from behind the trolley.

the stranger pushes past them, ignoring the way one of jackson’s wings quickly snaps out of their way. the stranger says nothing about yugyeom’s sudden inhuman behaviour — standing straight and unbreathing, eyes lighting in the dark, in front of mark and jaebum, shoulders taught and body uncharacteristically ready to _pounce_ — or the prying eyes on their figure. they walk even further into the darkness behind them in such a way that mark wonders if they’re still a little kid.

jinyoung and kunpimook’s eyes travel down to what the water spirit’s holding and feel their confusion only increase as they gaze upon a well cleaned, ivory _bull skull_. the gentle and fresh looking flower crown that settles gently on it doesn’t help matters.

 

 

 

 

“this isn’t a good idea,” jinyoung says. his eyes refuse to move from the bull skull sitting on the kitchen counter. he has one arm folded across his chest, hand resting in the crease of his other elbow. his other hand, his free hand, is holding his sleeve in place and tracing the nail of his thumb over his bottom lip.

mark looks over at him from where he’s resting against the island counter, arms crossed over his chest. his posture is far too comfortable and relaxed for the necromancer’s liking. “you’ve said that already.”

“we could have just left it,” he continues, shrugging his shoulders almost comically. they just brush his earlobes, eyebrows following their initiative. “we didn’t have to bring it with us.”

kunpimook frowns and huffs, tapping his foot impatiently. “I told you, jinyoung-ah, it spoke to me.”

jinyoung finally tears his eyes away from it to the water spirit. the harshness of his incredibility is almost cutting. “do you have any concept as to how insane you sound right now.”

“of course,” kunpimook says, voice surprisingly monotonous. he waves a hand as he talks, gesturing to himself and the skull. “in this world, me claiming an inanimate object called out to me is classified as crazy.”

“don’t blame what’s normal and what isn’t on me.” jinyoung snorts and looks away. his eyes narrow as they focus on the skull once more.

kunpimook drops his hand and pouts. “nobody else called me crazy.”

“everybody else is just too polite.”

“oh, and you’re all _brutal honesty_ , are you?”

mark ignores the two of them, unfocused eyes tracing patterns carved into the bone he hadn’t seen before. tiny, thin lines. small dots. intricate little designs he hadn’t known existed. they almost have him transfixed, something cool like water splashing over him and sinking into his own soul. it’s refreshing, something he can cling to.

so he walks forward and drags his fingertips lightly over the bone, following the curve of its temple towards the horns still in place. there’s a tingling — not unlike electricity — that shoots up his digits and blooms like flowers in his palm. his eyes flutter shut as it pools into his skin. it only takes him a second to pull his hand away but there’s a ghostly glow to the skull now, something he couldn’t ignore even if he wanted to.

**F** **INALLY.**

the voice is deep and unexpected, making the three of them freeze. it doesn’t sound like any of their voices, and they’re all pretty sure nobody else walked into the kitchen. it’s gravelly, vibrating deep in the bones of their ribcages and refusing to leave.

“mark?” jinyoung’s voice is uncertain. the witch turns his head to look at his friend, watching the way dark eyes dart from him to the skull, then back again. “what did I tell you! why did you _touch it_ , you—”

“you two wouldn’t stop bickering,” mark says, as if that explains every single aspect of his actions.

kunpimook steps forward, pointing at the skull and staring gleefully at jinyoung, cutting in before anybody else can talk. “see it _spoke_. I’m not crazy.”

jinyoung chews on his thumbnail, brows slowly drawing together. mark watches his eyes, watches them move. they seem to be following the same patterns he’d been focusing on before, probably finally noticing them, too. he can’t really blame them; with the darkening of the shadows inside them, they’re quite hard to miss.

“that… that proves nothing,” he says weakly, as if he doesn’t believe it himself. “it could just have been a whisper—”

**Y** **OU FAIL TO ACCEPT. T** **HAT IS MOST UNLIKE YOU.**

“see jinyoung.”

kunpimook’s eyes are wide and mark looks like he’s stopping himself from giving into doing something impulsive. the water spirit slowly walks over to stand by jinyoung, pressing himself against his arm and gripping the back of his jacket.

“this is still a bad idea,” jinyoung admits. he’s nodding slowly, as if he’s come to a decision they needed,as if there was a debate at hand and he’s only just seen the other person’s side, only just understood it.

mark steps backwards, away from the counter and the skull. he stops on the necromancer’s other side, one hand worming its way between his arm and his side, grasping his bicep. the flow of energy between the two witches soon has their breathing matching at every in- and exhale, the strength they feel when standing next to each other unquestionable.

**I** **S IT IN YOUR NATURE TO BE SO SUSPICIOUS OF EVERYTHING?**

“yeah,” kunpimook says. they all pretend not to notice how jinyoung jumps. the boy tilts his head into the other’s sight and asks, “what’s your problem?”

jinyoung frowns, using his free hand to smack kunpimook upside the head for the second time that day. “oh, so I’m the only one who thinks it’s weird to start a conversation with a random talking object that was passed to us by a complete stranger?”

mark’s grip on his arm tightens. “no,” he says slowly, quietly, in the tone of voice that is well-known between them all as his voice when his mind is very far away, dwelling on problems none of them had bothered to focus on. “I know where you’re coming from.”

“oh, gee, thanks.”

**Y** **OU’VE HARDLY CHANGED.**

it’s unmistakeable how jinyoung’s body tenses. if it weren’t for his breathing, puffs of air filtering out of his nose and onto anybody’s finger should they press it against his upper lip, you could easily mistake him for a corpse. body rigid and gaze fixed ahead, slowly unfocusing and glazing over, dread pools at his feet from a leaking tap somewhere in the recesses of his soul and begins to fill him.

mark’s gaze slowly moves around the room, lingering on some of the appliances or plants scattered about. it’s minor inconveniences, minor distractions that, really, aren’t too much of a problem if he hangs onto them for a few more seconds. at least, not now. soon, though, he’s gazing at jinyoung’s profile, tracing the curve of his lips, the darkening of the pink at the corners, and the way his face has gone uncharacteristically pale.

“jinyoung.”

mark now looks past jinyoung to kunpimook. the spirit’s eyes are wider than usual, his lips parted. there’s youth in his face that wasn’t completely evident before but shines through now, and it takes the witch a little to remember that not everyone completely understands what’s happening at the moment, what’s going on. not everyone has lived the same years, or under the same discrimination.

he senses more than sees kunpimook’s grip on jinyoung tighten. there’s something that slinks into the cracks of his expression that betrays him, betrays what he’s always trying to push forward, that image he wants of a mature young man. mark momentarily marvels at how much he’s learnt of all his childhood friends from the small snippets of conversations sprinkled throughout their days, from over meals to during cleaning hours.

“jinyoung,” kunpimook tries again, his voice a little louder but nonetheless just as unsure as the first time. “what does it mean.”

again, he doesn’t reply. he’s quiet, contemplative. there’s a pulse beneath his flesh, colour on his cheeks and his eyes are focusing stubbornly on the toaster behind the skull that’s been broken for two years. the sudden life beneath the corpse makes mark’s lungs empty themselves completely.

kunpimook’s eyes are pleading, “jinyoung—”

“that’s hyacinth’s life, isn’t it?” mark interrupts.

the water spirit’s eyes are on him immediately, desperate. they dart jerkily over his features, trying to piece together whatever it is the witch is talking about, trying to decipher the clear words. it’s such a different reaction to the necromancer’s steady gaze locking with his own that it shocks him.

nobody’s ever going to be a copy of somebody else.

“that’s what they’re looking for,” mark presses, turning his body to face jinyoung fully. his other hand comes up and presses against kunpimook’s bicep, squeezing. “that’s what they want me to find, to turn in.”

**I’** **M NOT A THAT.**

mark sends a level look over his shoulder. something in his core screams at him that the skull can tell when it’s being looked at, can somehow _see_ with its lack of eyes. “you’re a something.”

“they’re looking for a skull!?”

kunpimook doesn’t look impressed, eyebrows hiding behind his hair and mouth parted into an imperfect ‘o’ shape. he takes a small step back from the two witches and tilts his head, looking for all the gold in the world like a confused puppy.

“are you serious?” he says.

“unfortunately so,” jinyoung murmurs, voice barely carrying to his friends’ ears.

**T** **HEY’LL COME LOOKING.**

“it’s woken up,” the necromancer says unnecessarily, face crumpling. there’s something ugly and beautiful in the way wrinkles appear where before there had been smooth skin, contorting his features into something that begs mark to smooth it down with the pads of his fingers. “ _why_ did you have to talk to it? why?”

“what do you mean it’s woken up?” the spirit’s uncertain again, scratching at his upper arm through his jacket. he doesn’t look like he wants to know, really.

“they’ll come,” mark comments. he lets go of both men and crosses his arms over his chest again. his gaze traces over the skull. how could something so peculiar cause such a commotion?

“come?”

“they’re not going to just sit here when they know where it is.” mark shrugs, locking eyes with kunpimook. “and I don’t know where to take it. they didn’t exactly give me an address to return to.”

“but, hyung—” kunpimook’s words are forgotten when jinyoung interrupts, eyes slipping closed and expression dripping off his features.

“we’re as good as dead.”

 

 

 

 

youngjae turns off the screen of his phone for the third time in the past twenty minutes. he looks to jaebum fighting sleep in one of the armchairs of the living room, eyes drooping every few seconds only to snap back open stubbornly. jackson’s too busy fiddling with the tv remote to notice the unease that settles into his friend.

the overwhelming smell of vegetation has youngjae itching to open a window and climb out, find somewhere else that smells like a _home_. he feels exposed, here. nature’s surrounding him and he’s too skittery to be able to completely appreciate it.

“they’ve been in there for a while,” he says, voice a little too loud in the silence even for his own ears. he winces, staring down at his hands.

yugyeom looks at him briefly then returns his attention to the plants he’s watering. “mhm.”

“should we be worried?” youngjae’s fingers run along the edges of his phone, feeling the bumps and dents in the case that protects the small bit of machinery from too much harm. maybe it’s time he gets a new one.

“I don’t see why,” the android says, placing the watering can on the floor by his thighs. he wipes his hands down his jeans and gives the human all of his attention. “if it was something that would endanger us, they’d tell us. it wouldn’t be kept a secret.”

“okay.”

yugyeom narrows his eyes a little. the cock of his head is more telling than anything anyone else could say about his behaviour or feelings, and it has the strings in youngjae tightening up defensively. “you don’t sound convinced.”

“might be because I’m not,” he mutters, refusing to look at his childhood babysitter more than the vision allowed in his peripheral vision.

the gaze doesn’t shift from his face, not even down to his hands as he starts getting a little more elaborate with how he’s playing with his phone. it’s an effort to try and distract yugyeom from his current goal, to take the heat off of the young man so his lungs don’t burn when he breathes.

but it doesn’t work. of course it doesn’t. why would anything youngjae try and do work out well?

“where are you going?” yugyeom asks. his eyes aren’t narrowed any longer and he sounds genuinely curious when youngjae stands.

“bathroom.”

“I don’t—”

youngjae slips out of the living room without another word, whatever jackson had been protesting about getting lost. he takes the stairs up to the top landing two at a time, if only to give him something to do, to get rid of this excess energy. the wood creaks beneath him and the sound relaxes his nerves more than the smell of plants.

he shuffles down the landing in his slippers until he reaches the bathroom, stepping inside. now that he’s actually here, he might as well relieve himself. there isn’t much point in making the trip only to get away from yugyeom and ignore the opportunity that presents himself.

and, as he should be accustomed to by now, even his little trip to the bathroom isn’t normal any more.

the soap he’s washing his hands with smells very nice and lathers up easily. it doesn’t dry his hands out like the soap his mother used to buy for a small period of their lives where she thought hand soap made from their neighbour was better than the stuff bought in the shops. it leaves his hands feeling soft and moisturised as he dries them with the hand towel offered.

he makes the mistake of looking up into the mirror to see if he needs to sort anything out, if he still looks too worried about his friends and what they’d been handed just outside of their local supermarket. whatever his initial intentions are, they vanish as soon as he lands eyes on his reflection.

it’s emotionless, its face. it stares at him in silence for seconds, maybe a full minute. youngjae is only sure of the sound of blood rushing in his ears and the rhythm of his heart trying to punch its way through his ribcage. then his reflection grins, and its wide and horrible and so _mean_ he doesn’t think he’d ever be able to reciprocate it. to _reflect it_. the concept that something so sinister could even register on his own face makes him feel ill.

his reflection winks, waves cheekily then spins around and jogs to the reflection of the bathroom door, pulling it open and running down the landing.

youngjae doesn’t think as he thuds down the stairs, one slipper left on the landing and the other flying off his foot as he almost bangs his chin on the wooden banister. he ignores the alarmed shouts from the living room, yugyeom’s questioning call and jackson’s panicked face appearing in the doorway.

he launches himself at the kitchen door, shoving it open. to give him a little bit of credit, he doesn’t flinch at all when it slams loudly against the wall. three shock filled gazes turn to him and he can vaguely sense a fourth entity, a fourth presence in the room but he ignores it. jinyoung’s working his jaw, as if he’s speaking but his voice is betraying him.

“youngjae?”

“my reflection _left_.”


	12. xii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i was looking at my stats the other day — as you do — and i noticed that this has 15 subscriptions?? thank you guys so much!! it's a lot like silent encouragement to know that people want to follow this enough that they want to get emails as to when it updates. so thank you guys!! it means a lot.
> 
> also, this whole chapter is filled with tempers and arguments from within the group. i dedicate it to choi youngjae and his practically constant state of _Much Stress™_ during this whole work.
> 
> i hope you enjoy the update!!
> 
> —mack

jinyoung’s still doing that thing where he’s working his jaw. it must be the first time any of them have seen him unable to say a word; it’s such a shame they can’t savour the moment. “what do you _mean_ your reflection _left_?”

“it’s not there any more!” youngjae waves his arms about maybe a little too wildly. jackson has to press against the other side of the doorframe in order to squeeze past him and into the kitchen. “it’s gone! it turned around and went out the door!”

kunpimook stares owlishly at him. he moves out from behind the two witches, shooting a glance at jinyoung’s face in the process. “that’s… that’s not possible, youngjae. reflections don’t just _leave_. they can’t. they’re bound to whatever it is they’re reflecting.”

the boy is this close to smacking something or, even perhaps, someone. not that that’s something to be surprised about. he has a tendency to smack people when he’s exceedingly happy, too. but those times, he never has any harmful intentions behind the smacking, really. it’s a knee-jerk reaction. but there is very little that frustrates him more than not being believed. “mine just _did_ , I’m telling you—”

jaebum’s placing a hand on youngjae’s shoulder, close to his neck so he can give a reassuring squeeze. “are you telling me it isn’t even a little possible?”

mark’s eyes roam over his figure but refuse to look at his face — at anyone’s face, for that matter. the plants hanging overhead have captured his attention more than any body in that room. his posture is in murky waters between being relaxed and stressed and it makes jaebum uncomfortable just looking at him. jinyoung’s stubbornly staring at youngjae, disbelief tinting his features alongside his confusion at the initial outburst, and kunpimook looks as if he’s been caught in a drama of some sort, and is waiting for a camera to burst out of its hiding place with the way he keeps looking around.

“it seems a little farfetched that out of all the things that can exist in the world,” jaebum begins, his voice maybe just a little too sharp, filled with a little too much attitude towards people he deems to be his _friends_ , “someone’s reflection leaving isn’t one of them.”

so for five pairs of eyes to trail over him or stare at his face with little to no subtlety isn’t exactly unexpected. it still makes his bones want to shift about beneath in his skin.

jinyoung breaks first with a frustrated sigh jaebum recognises far too well. “look.” he runs one hand through his hair, fingers scratching the back of his head on the way past. “just because we’re not human doesn’t mean we know everything that happens surrounding magic. we’re not _know-it-alls_.”

kunpimook stares at youngjae again, then shoots a side-eye glance at the necromancer. “yeah, I mean, do you guys know everything there is to know about the human body?”

the silence on his part is answer enough.

“so don’t project your stereotypes on us,” kunpimook huffs. he nods, as if that gives him authority, and sticks his nose up once again in an attempt to look mature.

youngjae looks at everyone’s face, eyes snapping from expression to expression. jackson’s gazing at jaebum with wide eyes, jaebum’s staring jinyoung down, who returns the glare with his own bite. mark’s eyes are glued to the ceiling, trailing cracks and damp spots in the plaster. yugyeom stands in the doorway, one hand on the wooden doorframe so he can lean in and observe the situation unfold before him. youngjae quickly looks away when he locks gazes with the android.

the young man reaches forward and grasps jinyoung’s wrist. he pulls the necromancer out of the kitchen and down the hall, dragging him up the stairs. there are loud footsteps behind them, the rest of the boys moving to follow them as quickly as possible so as not to miss anything. when youngjae and jinyoung enter the bathroom once more, jinyoung stares, gaping, at his reflection, and his reflection alone.

the bathroom is incredibly crowded when five other bodies squeeze in and seven pairs of eyes stare at the mirror in disbelief.

“well shit,” kunpimook says eloquently, rubbing at his arm just above his elbow.

youngjae drops his grip on jinyoung’s arm and jabs a finger at the mirror. “I told you. I _told_ you!”

jinyoung finally manages to speak. “how can….”

jaebum raises his hands and tries to take a step back, effectively stepping on jackson’s foot and wincing at the yelp that follows. “I’m done.”

“what do you mean _you’re done_?” youngjae turns on him immediately. there really isn’t much space; the counter digs painfully into his back and his face is almost shoved straight into jaebum’s chest. it’s rare to see the anger that rushes over his features and turns the normally happy, sunshine-like boy into something that feels like it shouldn’t see the light of day. “you’re not missing your reflection!”

“don’t shout at me!” jaebum frowns and drops his hands. he wants nothing more than to push youngjae away, make it so neither of them are invading each other’s space, but with the counter directly behind youngjae and yugyeom crowding in on jaebum’s left, it isn’t really an option.

youngjae is in that weird space where he’s a mixture of anger and upset, eyes glistening but face still coloured with no signs of calming down. he’s still staring at jaebum, thumping him in the chest as if to get his attention, as if his attention had gone anywhere but from him. “ _why_ is this happening to me?”

“I don’t know, do I!” jaebum quickly removes the younger man’s hand and curls his fingers around the hem of his jacket so he doesn’t do anything stupid. _he’s too close._ “I’m not god! I didn’t plan any of our lives out, youngjae!”

“would you two quit it!?” jinyoung shouts over his shoulder, very nearly headbutting kunpimook in the process. the bathroom really is too small for seven grown men. this is not a good place for a rendez-vous.

“oh, I’m _sorry_!” youngjae lets out the true powers of his voice when he says, sarcasm spewing forth, “I didn’t realise freaking out isn’t a fucking option!”

six men stare in stunned silence as youngjae fights his way out of the bathroom, elbowing jackson in the stomach and almost poking out yugyeom’s eye in the process. his footsteps are heavy down the stairs but nobody makes a move to go after him. even if they were to register that it might be a good idea not to leave the boy who seems to be the only target on his own, the idea that youngjae swore and let sarcasm leak into his tone is something that’s a little hard to comprehend.

yugyeom slowly pokes his head out of the doorway to watch what he can of youngjae’s retreating back. it’s hard not to compare him to the young boy he used to babysit over a decade ago. the boy who hated confrontations, used to hide behind yugyeom whenever his friends got in a fight, was always the first to come to the android when he thought there would be a problem and the last person to insult or shout at anyone.

oh, how times change.

“youngjae just swore,” jackson says in disbelief, gaze still lingering on where the boy had been. there’s something in his expression that says he’s enjoying this maybe a little more than he should.

yugyeom blinks and comes back to himself, raising an eyebrow at the crow. “you act like he hasn’t before.”

kunpimook makes a show of leaning towards the android and smacking his arm. “he doesn’t make it a habit, you idiot.” he still looks somewhat dazed, fingers coming up to stroke at the pendant hanging from his choker.

jinyoung’s staring hard at mark’s profile. the necromancer’s face is filled with sharp lines, gaze unwavering and lips pressed into a tight line. jaebum takes one look at him, at his face, at the worry and panic that starts swimming around in his eyes and he’s suddenly filled with the urge to flee. he only gives in enough to exit the bathroom and breathe in deeply in the hallway.

“mark,” jinyoung says quietly. it’s almost as if he doesn’t trust his voice. he reaches out and curls his fingers into the witch’s sleeve. “mark, what’s happening?”

mark’s not watching him, not reacting to anything he’s saying. his eyes are unfocused completely, gaze lost somewhere along yugyeom’s shoulders and the curve of his neck. he rubs the nail of his thumb along his bottom lip, ignoring the urge to lick them instead or bite lazily at his nail every time it swipes close to the seam of his mouth.

jinyoung doesn’t have the patience to wait, tugging on the sleeve in his grip. “mark.”

“hyung, let him think,” kunpimook tries. he’s curled his fingers around the pendant completely and is pressing it against the palm of his hand. it doesn’t look like it’s enough to ease him as much as it normally does; his shoulders are a straight line and he keeps darting his eyes around, occasionally stretching his neck this way and that.

“no!” jinyoung glares at the water spirit, eyes narrowing. the wrinkles that appear when he’s smiling are pulled into something not as enjoyable. “I’m tired of being the one you guys come to for answers! as if I’m the only one who knows anything about this!” he turns to mark once more, but instead of yanking on his jumper he gives the witch a shove for good measure. “for god’s sake, mark, would you _say something_!?”

“I don’t know! okay?”

mark’s eyes are on jinyoung’s, thumb still resting against his bottom lip. his other arm comes around to press across his stomach, fisting the side of his shirt that rests above his hip. jinyoung blinks but parts his lips immediately to retaliate, however mark beats him to it.

“I don’t know what the fuck is going on with any of you, least of all with youngjae,” he starts off. he doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t shout. he doesn’t need to. he doesn’t speak often enough that the people who know him well, the ones who he surrounds himself with shut up when he has more than two full sentences to say. “I don’t fucking know why they chose me to help them with this and I don’t know why the fuck they’re threatening us or why the hell they decided to bruise up your face.”

the four men still in the room are silent. their attention sits completely on the witch’s shoulders, sharp and cutting and _there_. it’s impossible to ignore, the way four pairs of eyes bear into your face, your skull, jab at your mind like daggers. he should be happy they’re paying attention, but the fact that none of them have tried to say anything more, that none of them have even dared to contradict or make even the smallest noise that they agree with him only proves to annoy him more.

“you act like I always know what’s going on but I don’t know shit more than you, okay?” mark pushes himself away from the worktop and gives jinyoung’s chest a small shove. he doesn’t want to push the man over, oh no. he’s not looking for a physical fight, but dear god if he doesn’t want to assert some kind of _dominance_ , some kind of will to _fight back_. “I’m as much in the dark as you are and I _swear_ if you act like I think I’m all high and mighty one more time I’m going to dropkick you into next week.”

it’s mark’s turn to leave the bathroom. he feels the ghosts of fingers running through his hair when he passes by yugyeom but he doesn’t pay attention, doesn’t allow himself to indulge in it. instead he goes straight down the stairs, feeling jaebum’s gaze settle on the back of his head. he doesn’t know he ends up in the kitchen, closing the door and leaning against it. it’s as much of a mystery as to why he finds youngjae inside, two places away from the bull skull.

youngjae doesn’t raise his head from where he’s resting it on the island counter. his body is slumped, arms dangling freely and he looks so exhausted that a little of mark’s anger leaks out of his feet and sinks into the ground.

he licks his lips and traces one of the grooves carved into the door. “please tell me you haven’t been talking to the skull.” he doesn’t really ask, because in his mind it isn’t a question.

youngjae’s voice is muffled. “why would I be talking to the skull? skulls can’t talk, mark.”

 **A** **ND REFLECTIONS CAN’T LEAVE, Y** **OUNGJAE.**

slowly, the korean man sits up and turns his head to stare at the skull. surprisingly, his expression manages to maintain neutral — if a bit exhausted. “ _what_ the fuck.”

“the skull can talk,” mark announces, rather unnecessarily at this point. he tilts his head towards it but keeps his eyes on youngjae. “we’ve manged to piece together that it’s what that witch is looking for and conversing with it is a bad idea.”

the human gives his friend a look. “wouldn’t talking around it also be a bad idea.”

“I don’t know.”

he places his hands on the countertop and scratches at a small chip in the surface. mark can’t help but remember a time where seven-year-old youngjae had done exactly the same thing. the brief smack of nostalgia almost has him reeling, at such an odd moment in time, and he’s never more thankful for his habit of leaning against things.

“do you…” youngjae trails off and ducks his head. “do you really not know why this is happening to me?”

mark eyes his friend. there are an array of answers he could offer, ranging from youngjae being a fairly easy target because of the boy’s nature to simply someone playing dirty. there is nothing for him to be able to confidently say which one it is, he has no suspicions and is very willing to just want everything over. he had been hoping that once the skull had been found that that would be it.

“no,” he says.

the boy looks unhappy, the frown on his face revealing his emotions a little too clearly. mark can tell the usual ease at which youngjae confidently hides his feelings is slowly slipping. if he’s honest, he can’t blame him.

“so,” youngjae says, raising his head to watch mark. because he never _looks_ , mark thinks, he’s always watching. “what happens now?”

“I’m going to hazard a guess that when the coven finds out about the skull, they’re going to come over and collect it.”

mark soaks in the wary look he’s given, and straightens his head once more. he rests it against the door, now looking at the human with lidded eyes. youngjae narrows his own, and the scratching stops. “that sounds a lot simpler than I expected it to sound.”

he licks his lips again and stills his finger. pushing away from the door, he makes his way over to the counter and stops on the other side of youngjae, leaning his hips against the edge. “there does seem to be a lot of misplaced hype going around about my world.”

“people who meddle in your world seem to come back with a lot of stories,” youngjae contradicts. he leans his shoulders heavily on the marble and it gives off the illusion he’s under more stress than the rest of them.

“people have a tendency to exaggerate.” mark shrugs.

unimpressed, the young korean man sighs through his nose before stating as bluntly as he can manage, “are you going to tell me that jinyoung getting beaten up and you getting threatened is going to lead to a business meeting type affair where we hand over the skull, they say their thank you’s and leave without any type of conflict whatsoever?”

the witch merely blinks at him, silent. he moves to press his palms upon the table, gently doodling circles into the surface with his index fingers.

“you’re crazy.”

**H** **E’S NOT WRONG.**

 

 

 

 

kunpimook leaves the bathroom after mark does, bowing his head so he doesn’t have to catch jinyoung’s stare. instead, he looks to jaebum and reaches out for his sleeve, pulling him close to whisper something in his ear. yugyeom is quick to slip inside the bathroom fully, easily the tallest out of the trio, and close the door.

jinyoung frowns immediately and crosses his arms over his chest, staring the two of them down. “what is this, an intervention?”

“you need to calm down.” jackson takes a small step forward, gesturing with one hand.

the ugly spluttering that comes forth is not flattering. “ _calm down!?_ what,” he snaps, catching himself quick enough that the android gives him a little credit. “so what I did was wrong, was it? am I not allowed to get pissed at people any more!?”

yugyeom shoots a small look at jackson’s face. the boy is always caring for other people, but jinyoung has a sharp tongue in his mouth. so he decides to try and step in, “we’re all under stress, jinyoungie—”

“some more than others,” jackson mutters; he does it loud enough so that the two of them can hear.

“—so you might want to take into consideration other people, too.” yugyeom’s gaze is fixed completely on the necromancer, sharp and ready to intervene if necessary.

“don’t you _dare_ tell me that I don’t have a reason to feel like this has been dumped on me!” jinyoung straightens his back and his shoulders tense, whether a conscious or subconscious thought, yugyeom has yet to decide. “geun chose _me_ to take and bribe, not mark!”

jackson’s feathers twitch, wings most likely wishing to stretch and give the man a menacing aura to match the mood that had settled inside him. “what, you want a medal for being an arseholes punching bag?”

dark eyes stare at his face, jaw slack. the amount of disgust radiating from jinyoung’s features is almost palpable. “fuck you.”

another twitch of feathers and a groan. “oh, for _god’s sake_ , jinyoung—”

“why the fuck would you say that?”

“that’s what you just said! you want to be recognised as the person who’s suffered the most, right!?” jackson steps forward, doesn’t stop until he’s inches away from the witch, leaning in even closer. yugyeom feels his breathing and the movement of his chest cease. “well you’re getting it now, how does it feel?”

“don’t you dare spin this around on me!” there’s panic mixing in with jinyoung’s expression. there’s a depth to his emotions that isn’t being shown, isn’t being broadcasted, the android thinks. because human beings are a lot more complicated than they give themselves credit for.

“there are seven of us mixed into this bullshit, jinyoung!” jackson says, stepping back enough that he can gesture as he talks. it doesn’t seem to bother him too much if he accidentally smacks jinyoung with the back of his hand as he goes. “seven! and if you can’t learn to share the limelight without making any of us want to knock you out then we’re seriously going to have problems, yeah?”

jinyoung looks as if he’s sucked on a lemon, the way he’s pursing his lips and set his jaw. there’s something distinct about his posture that screams _prey_.

“the seven of us are a family, no matter what you think. if one of us is filled with a burden then we help that person, even if we are suffering, too.” jackson points at the door, giving jinyoung a nod, and says, “you need to apologise to youngjae and mark for how you acted and what you said.”

“I-I’m not trying to be the star of suffering!” it’s almost like he’s lost his voice, and it’s so weird, so unusual, for a man who is normally on top of his game, able to outwit any opponent by sheer use of his tongue alone. it makes yugyeom frown. “that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard! I’m pissed that youngjae is suffering from things that shouldn’t be allowed to happen—”

jackson interrupts at a higher volume to be heard, “ _you. are. not!_ you’re angry because—”

“ ** _enough!_** ”

jackson and jinyoung are breathing hard, glaring daggers at each other. it’s an interesting thing, watching close friends fight. it’s easy for them to get under each other’s skin and drag out whatever disgusting and rotting character traits they possess and show them all for the world to see. it’s a dangerous game, one that dances along an invisible line and grins cheekily whenever its almost crossing, before running away with a high-pitched, childish laugh.

yugyeom thinks about how he doesn’t want to witness it again.

the crow pushes past him and opens the door, slamming it loudly behind him. it’s not as dramatic as he would have liked it to be, because the doorway is narrow and his wings still wish to spread and stretch, making them completely uncooperative for the time being. so by the time the doorway is actually free enough for the door to slam without hitting anyone, yugyeom and jinyoung have been watching him for a good five seconds too long.

the necromancer sighs loudly and runs his fingers through his hair, grabbing fistfuls and yanking. he drops them loudly and stands straight on his own two feet. “yugyeom, let me out, too.”

he watches expectantly for the boy to move, for his own path to freedom to be given to him. well, maybe not necessarily freedom, but something akin to that, he hopes. a walk around the city seems like a good idea, maybe drop into some physical class that can help him get rid of his pent up energy. he starts to get restless when all the android does is stare at him.

“yugyeom,” he tries again, tries to get that authoritative tone in his voice that jaebum’s used in the past, in his presence, and has everyone obeying almost immediately. yugyeom doesn’t so much as even blink.

“kim yugyeom, I swear to god—”

“punch me,” the android says.

jinyoung stares, blinks once, and leans forward just an inch, wondering if he heard properly. “what?”

“punch me,” yugyeom repeats.

the witch continues to stare. if he were mark, he would have licked his lips, if he were jackson, he’d play around with his hair or his snapback, and if he were jaebum, he’d be grinding his teeth together. but he’s none of these people, with obvious ticks that show their distress. instead, he settles for concentrating on maintaining his mouth firmly closed with no possibility of gaping like a fish.

yugyeom, however, seems undeterred by his silence and simply continues on. “come on, take your frustrations out on me. take it all out on me. you’re too angry to do anything productive and whatever the reason behind it is you’re not going to be of any help unless you let it out.”

the first thing jinyoung can think to say is, “I’m not hurting you.”

“whoever said it would hurt.”

he stares. and how could he not? it’s such a weird request — sound, but weird. and he doesn’t want to go through with it, doesn’t want to agree to beating up the boy in front of him. how wrong would that be? even if it is simply to get his frustrations out, to allow him to function as he had days ago. to even think of laying a harmful hand on his old babysitter that didn’t hold something playful to it made him feel uncomfortable in his own skin.

yugyeom steps forward and crowds himself into jinyoung’s space. he presses hands to the counter on either side of jinyoung’s hips, determined. if he were human, this would be the part where his heartbeat would be deafeningly loud in his ears and his warm breath would wash over jinyoung’s lips. but he’s not human, and he’s still not breathing.

“don’t you fucking dare,” jinyoung breathes, seethes, almost. but he looks like a deer caught in headlights and his hands are hovering between the two of them, unsure in where to place themselves.

“you’ll bruise anyone else,” yugyeom reasons, staring straight into jinyoung’s gaze. “it’s got to be me.”

“yugyeom—”

there’s a kiss and it isn’t sweet or chaste. it’s teeth and heat and fingers digging into skin, pulling on hair. it’s the hard counter top digging into his back, a solid body pressing up against his and a distinct, warm pink glow emitting from a chest.

 

 

 

 

it takes hyacinth’s coven exactly 32 hours and 17 minutes to arrive at mark’s door.

the kitchen is an absolute mess with pots and pans everywhere, stains on the counter top and plates having been cleared of food not five minutes ago. the group of seven men had been in the middle of sorting out who would do what — some even going so far as to point out that they’d done cooking, or proclaiming loudly they needed the bathroom and would be gone for a while — when the doorbell rang. nothing had silenced them more.

mark’s the one who looks through the peephole and opens the door, face impressively impassive. yugyeom standing behind him with a protective arm on the witch’s waist isn’t as controlled, with narrowed eyes and tight lips.

a woman of chinese decent with thin lips and sparse, almost non-existent eyebrows smiles at the two of them, showing perfect, white teeth. she’s dressed like she’s heading to a funeral, head to toe in black and somehow managing to look elegant in a thick winter coat. “sun qiu,” she says as an introduction, though she does not extend a hand. “you’re tuan yien, yes?”

the witch’s eyes twitch and narrow minutely. “it’s mark. just mark.”

qiu continues to smile. the glint that sits in her eyes, lurking beneath the surface as if it’s ready to pounce, has the hairs on the back of mark’s neck standing up and the grip on his hip tightening to an almost painful point. “now that we’ve gone over formalities, I think it’s best if we get straight to business, don’t you?”

whatever commotion there had been in the kitchen stops when the men begin filtering out. jaebum and youngjae linger in the doorway, however — the younger of the two leaning against the wood with arms wrapped around him, a chin leaning on his shoulder —, kunpimook boldly moves to stand on the third from last stair, leaning over the railing to get a look at the people outside with jackson following his lead on the next stair up.

jinyoung, however, walks over to mark and yugyeom, standing at the witch’s other side. he reaches out and gently grasps the android’s wrist, swallowing audibly when he meets qiu’s gaze. the aura she’d had when they first met still drowns her and he doesn’t know if he’s comfortable, doesn’t know if he could handle her on his own. he’s suddenly incredibly grateful for the six other men with him.

qiu’s eyes flash and the smile on her face turns sharp. “ah, jinyoung. what a pleasure it is to meet you.”

the necromancer says nothing but tightens his grip on yugyeom’s wrist.

she lingers her gaze on him for a single moment before looking at mark once more. she’s standing as if she holds the power of the world on her shoulders and he’s reminded of his first impression. _she really doesn’t play well with others._ “I think you have something that belongs to us, yien. we’ve come to retrieve it.”

“I’ll get kunpimook to bring it,” mark says without missing a beat.

if you look closely, in the background, you can see kunpimook stare wide-eyed at the back of marks’s head, almost as if he had just insulted the water spirit, only tripping into movement when jackson gives him a shove and nods towards the living room, mouthing _go_.

“oh, that won’t be necessary,” qiu says brightly and takes a step forward. she’s close to stepping on mark’s slippers with the toes of her boots. her smile turns sly. “you’re all going to be coming along with it.”


	13. xiii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> while i was writing this chapter i kept thinking about chapters xvii-xix and i can't wait until i get to write them. i'm so pumped for them!! but i need to be patient, haha.
> 
> shit's going down now!! sorry this is a little shorter than the others, but i'm hoping the next one will be a hell of a lot longer. (i can guarantee chapters xvii-xix will be at least twice as long as these last few chapters, haha~) either way, i hope you can enjoy!!
> 
> —mack

qiu stands stiffly in the doorway to the living room, eyes drifting over the dust, towering stacks of books and cds, potted plants spread out and slowly overtaking the floor. there’s something akin to disgust washing over her features, something that makes jaebum set his jaw and jinyoung want to do the same.

it has to be some unknown etiquette that jaebum isn’t aware of, this offering tea to a fellow witch upon arrival at their home. it has to be something he doesn’t understand, because he _really_ just doesn’t understand why mark’s nudging his way past qiu, handing her a mug and calmly stepping further into the living room to sit on his sofa beside kunpimook.

the woman’s watching him, then eyes the liquid in her hands. she sniffs it, squinting, and takes a very small sip. jinyoung glares, youngjae fidgets in his spot next to jackson, and yugyeom busies himself by slipping an arm around kunpimook’s shoulders and bringing the boy closer to him.

“this is very nice of you,” qiu says, taking another mouthful. her eyes move around the room again, lingering on the seven men sat around the living room, squished together in what can only be described as a ploy to reap strength from each other. “but we must get down to business.”

“I wouldn’t necessarily call this business,” mark says. it’s almost lazy, the manner of the attention he offers her. unlike the necromancer, mark is slouched in his seat, shoulders slumped and eyes half-lidded. it looks more as if he’s about to fall asleep than take someone down a peg or two.

qiu walks over to the only available chair — that had been dragged in from the dining room — and sits down primly, crossing one leg daintily over the other. “and why’s that?”

“you’re taking something from me that I was forced to look for and expect the seven of us to wander along with you without making a fuss about it.” the witch chooses this moment to cross his arms over his chest, tilting his head ever so slightly. the knowing look that settles in his veins is there once more and it makes jaebum uncomfortable simply witnessing it. “we’re not going to come out alive.”

there’s an amused smile sitting on her lips, hidden behind the rim of her cup. she doesn’t seem perturbed by the questionnaire she’s found herself in; she appears to be happy to go along with it. “you make it sound so much meaner than what it really is.”

“if you like to kid yourself into believing something that isn’t true, be my guest.”

“yien, you’ve changed so much from your younger years.”

“we never met in my younger years.”

“no, we didn’t.”

“leave him out of this,” jinyoung says sharply. his eyes narrow at her figure, chin tilting upwards ever so slightly. there has always been that feeling that he could rule whatever he put his mind to, jaebum thinks; there is no hesitation that jinyoung could easily get anything he desires due to the sharpness of his tongue alone. “he did as you asked, so take what you wanted and go.”

the woman’s tutting, lowering her cup into her lap and shaking her head. her inverted bob swishes from side to side, gently grazing her chin with every movement. “now now, jinyoung-ssi, you really need to watch your manners.” there’s a pull to her features, something that jaebum thinks is supposed to look like a mixture of surprise and offense. she doesn’t quite get there. “if I was someone with a delicate soul I could have been very hurt by your tone. you should watch that.”

the young man’s eyes are dragged back to the necromancer beside him. balancing on the arm of the chair, jaebum is at a good advantage to place a hand on jinyoung’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “why do you need us for this?”

qiu raises an eyebrow, the fake expression giving way to a real one. “I beg pardon.”

“we’re not of interest to you.” jackson butts in before jinyoung has the opportunity to. despite his wings, the crow has managed to slip into one of the other armchairs and has youngjae sitting on his thigh, hand on his hip to keep the boy steady. what surprises jaebum the most is how indifferent the crow’s face is. “you’re about to have what you wanted in five minutes. there isn’t a reason as to why we need to go along with you in the first place.”

“think of it as tidying up loose ends,” she says as delicately a she wishes; which is to say, not very much. there’s a bite to the smile she offers him, a slight tilt to his eyes, and jaebum feels the dull urge to connect his knuckles to her face in a violent and rapid fashion.

the crow stares back at her, blinking once. his voice is still level, no indication of any of his normally wavering moods coming into play. “since when are we loose ends?”

“unwanted business with a coven can sometimes lead to something less than wanted,” she explains with an exaggerated sigh, taking another mouthful of her tea. the way she speaks reminds jaebum of the way adults speak to young children, or to people they deem _slow_. “so geun has made sure to make it clear that he does not want any strays left where people may find them.”

“and that means you want us dead,” jaebum says. he doesn’t ask, because it’s not a question. it could never be a question, not in this situation; it would always be a statement.

when her eyes land on him, something cold sinks into the core of his spine and spreads its wings. “ah,” she says, almost gasps. something glimmers in her eyes, something jaebum really does not like. “fortunately for your friend, jinyoung-sii, it does appear you have a _smart_ one in your midst.”

the seven men just stare at her. two of the men that had come with her are still standing alongside her side of the room, their faces indifferent and bodies taught, as if they’re waiting to be strung. it makes the already uneasy air that much more uncomfortable; like something that circles the coffee table’s surface in the middle of the room, grinning lecherously up at the group of friends, constantly taunting and faking its stay in one place before it _moves_.

she looks a little put out when nobody rises to her bait, grabs onto the supposed _joke_ she’d offered. jaebum thinks she might have been expecting some kind of defence, for one of them to jump to save jackson’s honour, or even tell her to get her head out of her own arse. but she’s met with silence and a varying degree of disapproving facial expressions that satisfies nothing.

“oh, now, those looks aren’t terribly welcoming.” it’s a stretch for her to put her cup down on the coffee table. nobody says anything when it touches naked wood instead of sitting on a coaster — it really shouldn’t matter, considering the coffee table is old and already covered in coffee and other stains but it feels so _wrong_ —, however jaebum’s sure he sees jinyoung’s eye twitch in his peripheral vision. “how about we move along with our agreement, hm?”

“this wasn’t an agreement,” youngjae murmurs, eyes quickly dipping away from qiu’s when she stares at him.

“we found the skull and we’re giving it over to you.” jackson’s trying again to butt in, shifting youngjae about in his lap a little so he can lean forward, gesturing with his other hand. “you don’t need to take us anywhere; we don’t plan on trying to overthrow the coven or anything. we just want to go back to how our lives were before this happened.”

qiu leans back in her chair and finally drags her eyes away from youngjae. the young man lets out a lungful of air and sinks back against the crow’s chest. “that’s all very noble of you, but orders are orders.”

“what if mark overrides your orders?” jackson asks.

again, jaebum doesn’t understand. it has to be something that exists in the other world, because mark is looking at jackson as if he’s just made a fool of himself in front of the enemy and jinyoung’s got his face in his hands, rubbing at the skin as if it had personally offended his family. the hand jaebum has on the necromancer’s shoulder shifts to grasp the back of his neck gently, squeezing.

qiu looks like she’s been frozen while choking on something, her hand hiding her mouth as wide eyes stare jackson down. the look isn’t welcoming or calming, it doesn’t look as if anybody could gaze upon that face and want to be in her company again. it only heightens when a high-pitched, distorted laugh falls from her lips, the woman doubling over where she sits.

“haha _ha_!”

mark licks his lips. “jackson—”

“override _my orders_?” she gasps out, one arm winding around her torso and her other hand resting on the side of her seat with her fingers curling around the wood. the men in suits behind her have the decency to look just as uneasy about her laughter as the rest of them. it takes her a moment to pull herself together enough to face them again, amusement dancing along her features as she stares straight at jackson. “you really have very _little_ idea as to how covens work, don’t you? no-one can override my orders, and less so when I will take great joy in seeing them through.”

jackson keeps his mouth shut. jaebum thinks he can see a pink hue rising on his cheeks, the grip he has on youngjae’s hip tightening, thinks he can practically _taste_ the man’s embarrassment. the urge to connect his fist with the woman’s face returns as quickly as it had left.

kunpimook finally speaks up, sputtering and — ironically — clutching the bull skull in his lap closer to his torso, like a lifeline. “what— are _you_ going to be the one who kills us?”

“don’t be stupid.” the woman sniffs once, gently wipes under her eyes with her middle fingers and blinks a few times. she smooths out her skirt and tilts her head, gazing up and down the water spirit until her eyes lingers on the pendant resting on his chest. “they want you alive.”

“but you—” kunpimook tries, looking lost and uncomfortable. jaebum wonders if he wants to return to his lake, to his home, to the spirits that annoyed him far too much. there’s a stab of something warm in his heart when yugyeom pulls him closer, placing his other hand on the spirit’s arm.

“yien,” qiu cuts him off with elegance, almost, uncrossing her legs and recrossing them the other way, leaning her forearms on her thigh as she settles her attention on mark. “I’m very surprised you didn’t seek better company.”

mark’s quiet but he’s no longer lazy. his eyes may be half-lidded but they’re sharp, taking in her every movement and almost refusing to look away. he moves, raising a foot to press it to the side of the coffee table, letting it rest there as if it’s some kind of barrier than could stop her from getting to kunpimook, to his friend.

“I mean, really. you’re surrounded by a bunch of fools.”

the witch’s eyes narrow and he swallows visibly, his arms tightening over his chest. he redirects the way he’s leaning, pressing down onto kunpimook’s shoulder. jaebum doesn’t think he’s ever seen mark glare before, and mean it. for a long time — until now, if he had time to think about it — he had been convinced that a mean bone didn’t exist in the boy’s body. obviously, he’s mistaken.

“or maybe that’s why.” her voice is breathy, almost as if she’s made a realisation. the following slow quirk of her lips and widening of her eyes only cements the idea. “you like being the one in control and the most knowledgeable, don’t you?” she speaks slowly, “ah, I don’t know why I didn’t see it sooner. it suits you.”

again, mark doesn’t answer. he’s good like that. he can keep everything inside and only ever let it out when he thinks it’s necessary, when he really can’t control it, or when it finally slips from his fingers. jaebum’s never witnessed it.

“you _need_ to _stop_ ,” jinyoung snaps. he drags his head up and glares in qiu’s direction, brows pulled and lips pursed and an _anger_ sitting in the profound depth of his eyes that makes youngjae shudder where he’s sat and kunpimook sink lower in his seat.

qiu doesn’t let it bother her, doesn’t let it affect her, and replies easily, “that’s not really any way to speak to a guest.”

his hanging fingers curls into fists so tight the skin along his knuckles thins and turns an alarming shade of white. “I didn’t realise I was talking to one.”

“you don’t need to make this unpleasant, jinyoung-sii.” qiu sighs. _this is probably a job to her, probably something unpleasant and annoying that she simply needs to get out of the way before getting on with bigger projects._

yugyeom surprises them all by saying, “neither do you.”

“ah, so he speaks other than glares.” she smiles at him, her eyes thinning slightly. jaebum wonders if anything could offend the woman, could make her uncomfortable. no matter the tone they lace into their voices or the words they spit at her, she constantly looks like she’s enjoying the moment.

she pushes herself to her feet and shrugs her winter coat on once more. it’s a decidedly normal gesture for someone like her, for the conversation being held at hand. it takes her a moment to get it to rest on her shoulders comfortably. “now, as nice as the tea was, it’s time to go. I don’t want to keep geun waiting.”

“we’re still not going with you,” jinyoung says loud and clear, leaning closer to jaebum and picking at his fingernails. the frown still covers his face and gears are turning in his head, ticking away. jaebum for once doesn’t think a plan is going to help them.

qiu sends him a look, combing fingers through her hair. “this isn’t up for debate, jinyoung-ssi. it never was.”

jinyoung repeats vehemently, “we’re not going with you.”

“I don’t think you quite understand.” qiu takes a step closer to them, to the coffee table. it reminds jaebum that she’s still wearing her boots inside mark’s house. “geun is still very angry about those little stunts you pulled. I don’t think I need to mention how you’re leaving left him.” jinyoung’s glare sharpens and the woman clasps her hands together in front of her, leaning forward so they’re both eye level. “I think you owe him some kind of explanation, don’ you?”

“jinyoung doesn’t owe him anything,” jackson almost shouts, the frown on his face and volume of his voice startling youngjae, who nearly falls out of his lap.

“I don’t think I asked for your opinion, animal,” qiu says dismissively, not even directing the crow an ounce of her attention.

jackson freezes where he sits, then slowly sinks back into his seat, shifting youngjae further into his lap in an effort to hide behind him subtly. mark’s eyes narrow dangerously and jinyoung stiffens beside his friend. the necromancer’s eyes are still on qiu, still glaring dangerously at her. his body is cold to the touch and jaebum wants to pull away, wants to get away so he can feel comfortable in his own skin, to not feel like his life is getting _sucked_ from his body along with any warmth he had once owned.

yugyeom’s grip on kunpimook’s arm tightens as he hisses out, “don’t you _dare_ —”

“if you don’t come now, I’ll simply have to tell geun and wait for him to allow me to kill you and take the skull without offering the seven of you a ride down to the very _comfortable_ mansion.” the woman stands upright and allows her eyes to move around the room, locking with each of their gazes.

the seven men stay seated, stay silent, and keep on glaring.

“either you come willingly and live a bit longer or call your families to start organising your funeral as your death comes later in the week.” there’s a chipper tone to her voice, a happiness there that is so out of place with the threats falling from her lips it sets kunpimook’s hair on end and youngjae decides the stains on the coffee table are a lot nicer to observe. “need I remind you it’s only thursday?”

 

 

 

 

**Y** **OU DON’T HAVE NEED TO WORRY.**

kunpimook startles, jumping in his seat and whipping his head around wildly. in the people carrier he, jinyoung and mark have been stuffed into, nobody else looks alarmed nor as if they’d head the voice coming from the skull. it’s still sat in his lap, cradled in his arms so it doesn’t bounce about during the journey.

the spirit watches jinyoung’s profile, the way there’s an occasional grind of teeth against teeth, the visible way he swallows with his adam’s apple bobbing, the almost constant rubbing of his palm along his outer thigh. the necromancer refuses to look at anybody, staring straight ahead at the road. there’s too much pressure on him, sitting on his shoulders and kunpimook wishes he could take some of it off, alleviate something.

he looks down at the skull, turning it around until it’s facing him. there isn’t any muscle, flesh, fat or tendon clinging to the surface of it, nothing but bone with carvings and that dastardly flower crown that hasn’t wilted since they first got it. seeing that many teeth constantly bared at him should make him uneasy, he thinks.

 **I** **BRING NO HARM TO ANYONE. I** **HAVE NO WILL AND NO DECISIONS.**

this time, the water spirit manages not to start, but instead allows his eyes to widen in surprise. it answered his thoughts. the feeling of violation washes over him and he swallows audibly, chewing on the inside of his cheek. he thumbs one of the carvings.

_why are you causing such a big problem?_

**I** **T’S NOT A BIG PROBLEM. T** **HE WORLD WASN’T MADE AWARE OF MY DISAPPEARANCE.**

_are you telling me that this only has to do with us?_

**I** **’M SAYING YOU ARE THE ONLY ONES WHO WILL DIE.**

he lets his eyes roll over the carvings, following one of the swirls on the temple that blooms into a crude flower at the base of one of the horns. he wonders who decorated the bone, but quickly thinks something else; he doesn’t want to get an answer to something that isn’t important.

_you don’t care if we die?_

**I** **’M NOT A LIVING BEING. I** **FEEL NOTHING.**

_you have a voice._

**B** E **ING ABLE TO SPEAK MEANS VERY LITTLE.**

_it’s a sign of intelligence._

**N** **OT ALWAYS.**

it’s an effort not to laugh or gawk at the sarcasm creeping into the monotonous voice in his head. he traces a pattern with the tip of his finger, going back and forth from end to end with little interruption.

feeling eyes on his face, he looks up and spies mark gazing at him. he just looks back, pausing his finger. the witch looks him over, gazes down at the skull in his lap, and kunpimook thinks he can practically _feel_ the disgust mark has towards it rolling off him in waves. it feels a little misplaced, now, kunpimook can’t help but think. the skull didn’t ask to get lost, didn’t ask for them to be pulled into this.

then again, the skull doesn’t really care about anything. so what does it matter if mark’s started to hate it?

the foreigner turns towards the window again, leaning his forehead on the glass. the water spirit observes him lick his lips and sigh, breath fogging up the glass. he thinks of his friends in the other people carrier, hopes they’re in the same condition, hopes that they won’t end up in two different destinations. the fact that the seven of them have been separated for so long already makes him feel uneasy.

qiu had been adamant about mark, jinyoung and kunpimook being transported together. he doesn’t completely understand why. he wonders if it has something to do with the skull, if there’s some kind of connection between the three of them. but he’s not witch; he’s a spirit that was handed a talking skull. the way she’d spoken to mark had made him think that something is planned for him, something that none of them would find pleasant other than her; it made disgust of his own boil about in him.

**Y** **OU THINK BADLY OF HER.**

_she hasn’t given me reason not to._

**D** **O NOT TRUST HER.**

_we don’t plan to._


	14. xiv

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so sorry for taking so long to update. the day i uploaded the last chapter i remembered that i had decided to enter the yugyeom fic fest and that i had hardly written anything for the prompt i'd chosen, so for the past three weeks or so (has it really been that long?? holy jesus) i have been focusing on that, and it's been hard because the prompt wasn't working with me but now i have it finished except for one small tweak i want to add!! so that's good.
> 
> but apart from the other fic being of a bigger priority, as if has a deadline, the week after i posted the last chapter i went to my mum's where i had no internet for two weeks, so i couldn't even look up inspiration for either work in order to help me with writing, and then _after_ that i went and visited my grandparents for a week, which resulted in going out every day and my brain being too tired to think of writing when i finally had the chance.
> 
> so thank you for being so patient and i hope this wasn't so long that you've grown tired of waiting for this to finish, haha. i also have a kkt if you wish to talk to me!! it's _smolmoons_ so just send us a message with who you are and stuff and we can chat!! (i really need more people to talk to on it, lmao).
> 
> i hope you enjoy the latest chapter, even if it was long awaited!!
> 
> **warnings: seriously bad language (it's one word but still) and implied violence.**
> 
> —mack

something that kunpimook really hadn’t been waiting for was to enter what looks like a lounge and be offered _pie_.

he stares at it, at the piece on the plate. it’s got berries inside — he can’t really identify which ones they are because there’s a blur of pink and purple inside that looks more like jam with bits in — and caster sugar gently scattered along the top. it doesn’t look like any of the pies he’s ever seen or been told about from spirits of other cultures that somehow ended with him. but don’t get him wrong. even if he knew what type of pie it was, he wouldn’t take it.

the skull in his arms feels heavier the longer he looks at the offering, and it doesn’t lighten when jinyoung grasps one of his arms and pulls him away from the… what would she be? waiter? slave? butler? either way, he’s now standing to the side with jinyoung pressing in from one side, close enough that their shoulders brush constantly, and mark only a mere foot away on his other side.

the room’s large in size, but filled with so much that it’s a wonder anyone can walk around without tripping over something, banging their hip against a piece of furniture, or even able to shimmy between. kunpimook lets his gaze slide over table and bookshelf, desk and chairs, the horrible-looking sofa that they’re most likely going to sit on. probably.

the butler, maybe, that was offering him pie puts the plate down on the coffee table next to the rest of the pie and swims — really, he doesn’t have a better word for it — through the furniture to the other side of the room. he didn’t know there’s a door there until she pulls it open, and qiu’s entering purposefully. there’s a wicked smile on her face, a sharp gleam to her eye, and then a man’s following in behind her.

jinyoung stiffens beside kunpimook and the water spirit turns his head just enough to be able to observe the deep-set frown on the necromancer’s face. the wrinkles that are normally only present during wide smiles and loud laughter are pulling his features into something colder and much more menacing.

“park jinyoung,” geun says. his smile is greasy and such a terrible façade the spirit wants to take a shower as far away from here as possible. “I see you’ve brought friends along with you.”

“hardly by choice,” jinyoung spits and tightens his grip on kunpimook’s arm, who tries to hold in the wince that’s threatening to break out.

geun just laughs. he’s trying to make it sound good-natured, friendly, maybe. he’s trying very hard to make himself out to be something he’s not, maybe to catch them all off-guard or just to unnerve them, but it isn’t working very well. it sounds off and bad and so _fake_. he’s not a good actor.

“now, now, there’s no need to be anything but civil, is there?” he says. with a wave of his hand, he gestures to the hideous sofa. “if you would.”

kunpimook waits. he waits for mark or jinyoung to move, waits for them to sit, to put him in the right place. jinyoung doesn’t sit on the sofa, stays standing, keeps gripping the spirit’s arm so tight that he’ll probably have bruises, and mark continues to just stare.

“I don’t think you quite understood,” geun says, smile widening. _is he trying to make it friendlier?_ “it wasn’t an offer.”

slowly, mark steps forward. he presses a hand to the small of kunpimook’s back and gives a small push. the spirit follows after his friend and the three of them reluctantly edge their way between the sofa and the coffee table. there’s barely enough room for their legs as it is, and kunpimook gets the feeling that should he try and move something, he’d get in more trouble than he’s already in.

the trio sit stiffly. when geun and qiu move to sit comfortably in the armchairs on the other side of the coffee table, things shift.

mark leans back against the sofa and — somehow, kunpimook really needs to watch him more closely — throws a leg up to rest his ankle on his knee. his arm comes to rest along the back of the sofa, close enough that he could wrap it around kunpimook’s shoulders if he needed with minimal effort.

jinyoung loosens his grip on the spirit’s arm and slips his fingers down until he can worm his hand between kunpimook’s and the skull. he links their fingers together and gives the smallest squeeze he can without making it obvious. kunpimook feels as if he’s stuck between his parents at a meeting with somebody who has some form of authority over him; and he’s fucked up. he’s fucked up badly.

“see? this can be civil,” geun says, his own arms resting along those of the chair. it looks just as hideous as the sofa. “there’s no need to make this any bigger than it is now.”

the necromancer’s eyes narrow at the words and he tilts his chin ever so slightly. he keeps his gaze on geun’s face, refuses to let the old man see him size him up, and more than refuses to look at qiu, to let her get even a glimpse of what he might be feeling towards her at that moment.

“you’re not big,” he says, “and you’re not clever.”

geun’s smile doesn’t disappear or lessen. “I never claimed to be, park jinyoung. I don’t know where you got those ideas from.” the butler from before returns, a small glass half-filled with amber liquid on a silver tray in her hands. geun takes the glass without even looking at her and takes a sip of it. “now, down to business.”

“this isn’t a business,” kunpimook says before he can stop himself. he doesn’t know why he said it, because now both pairs of eyes are staring at him, digging holes into his own skull, and jinyoung’s running his thumb along his knuckles. he repeats quieter, “this isn’t a business.”

“oh, park jinyoung,” geun says. he sounds delighted. “don’t tell me you infected your friends’ thoughts with your opinions on us.”

“what difference would it make? you’re cunts, no matter who looks at you.”

geun spits out a laugh, some of the liquid he’d been holding in his mouth spraying out onto the wooden coffee table, and qiu looks to be a mixture of amused and shocked. kunpimook feels mark’s arm slip down onto his shoulders and turns his head a little, watching out of the corner of his eye as the witch’s hand grasps the necromancer’s shoulder and squeezes.

“you do have quite a colourful language, don’t you?” geun shakes his head and takes one more mouthful of his drink before he places the glass down on a coaster on the coffee table. “I do believe you have two things I’m interested in.”

kunpimook blinks. he looks at both mark’s and jinyoung’s faces, wondering they have any idea what the man is talking about, before looking down at the skull and trying to find something in it or a part of it that could be the second thing they’re supposed to hand over. there’s mild panic at the base of his spine. _we’ve only got this._

geun smiles encouragingly, almost, at kunpimook and gestures to the skull. “yes, that is one thing you have that we want. if you would be kind enough to hand it over—”

“what makes you think we’re handing it over?” jinyoung says quickly, grip tightening on kunpimook’s hand. he shifts in his seat, moves forward, leaning over the coffee table. “if we give you this, we’re willingly accepting the outcome of things.”

geun just blinks at him. kunpimook thinks he actually looks perplexed at the idea that they don’t want to cooperate.

“willingly or not,” qiu finally speaks up. she’s not perplexed like geun, rather she’s practically lounging in her armchair, legs crossed and hand playing with her hair, eyes set darkly on jinyoung’s form. “the outcome of things will happen regardless. you don’t have the upper hand in this fight, jinyoung-ssi, and I think it’s time you realised that.”

mark’s hand on the necromancer’s shoulder squeezes again and kunpimook watches his friend with rapt attention. he knows what jinyoung’s face looks like, knows where the man stands on this account, but mark’s said _nothing_. he’s kept quiet and still, observing. surely he’s going to say something, do something. surely he can’t just want to sit there and let the events unfold as they do. surely.

“you always were an interesting creature,” geun comments with a sigh. kunpimook slowly turns his head to look back at the stranger and caresses part of the skull he can reach with his free hand without seeming too obvious. “always thought you were in control of your own life, that it would end on your terms.”

mark’s moving again, fidgeting in his seat. kunpimook feels his thigh press against his and the comfort it gives is probably ridiculous had they been in any other situation.

“but don’t you see, park jinyoung?” the old man’s eyes flicker towards mark. “tuan yien? you were never in control of your lives. you never have been. you are destined to follow whatever path is to be handed to you.”

kunpimook slowly looks away from him to qiu. he doesn’t know anything about her, not really, but he knows she was the one who played around with youngjae’s reflection. he hasn’t been told — none of them have — but there’s something that itches under his skin when he looks at her, something that makes him just feel as if he _knows_. she’s not human, that’s for sure. she’s not human and she’s under the same fate, the same discrimination as the three of them.

her face is set in an unidentifiable expression, eyes blank and lips a slightly strained line. it doesn’t take her long to lock gazes with him and her stare is so unnerving that he forces himself to look away, to gaze down at the top of the skull, to trace the carvings with his eyes.

“it’s so sweet how you think you can take control of your lives.” geun is still talking. “but somebody ought to show you just where you belong, hm? and here I was, thinking that I’d managed to get through to you, park jinyoung, but then you just upped and left.” he sounds condescending, like a parent scolding their offspring even though they’re not a baby any more. “you left a sour flavour in my mouth.”

jinyoung leans back and lets out a sharp breath through his nose. kunpimook can’t tell whether it was supposed to be a laugh, snort or huff. either way, it sounds offended. “oh, I _am_ sorry. I had been hoping for a little something more. I’ll up my game next time,” he spits.

qiu’s expression hasn’t changed but geun _looks_ condescending. kunpimook didn’t think he could look anything other than creepy, but apparently he can pull off creepy with a little something else. “now, now. there’s no reason this can’t stay civil.”

“civil? _civil_!? you think this whole transaction is civil!?”

“of course. we didn’t drag you here in body bags, did we?”

mark lets his foot fall from his knee and press against the floor. it was a little more awkward than he had hoped, the water spirit’s sure, but he manages it, and soon he’s leaning his elbows on his knees and gazing at geun expressionless.

“your definition of civil doesn’t exist,” he says. it’s like he’s discussing the weather, or what they’re having for lunch— _anything_ but the fact that they’re about to die because they were recruited to find something that didn’t _involve them_. the spirit wonders if maybe he should fear his friend just as much as his enemies.

“oh, yien,” geun says. he grins and it’s disgusting. “I was wondering if you would speak.”

mark looks nonplussed, just continues to lean forward, continues to stare, continues to have his thigh pressed against kunpimook’s. he doesn’t press closer when geun stands like jinyoung does, and he doesn’t reach out to hold onto the spirit or the necromancer in reassurance, but he doesn’t _need_ to. not really.

“because, you see, you have something we’re interested in, too,” the old man says. he walks around the armchair and towards the back of the room. there’s clutter all over the bookshelves and it’s almost impossible to find anything on them, to be able to push them apart and reach for what you want in a matter of seconds.

kunpimook drags his eyes away and shoots a glance at the silent skull. he curls his fingers a little firmer around jinyoung’s hand and leans into him minimally, trying his own hand at silent reassurance. next thing he knows, mark’s not leaning on his knees any more and there’s a hand on his thigh. it’s warm, he can feel it through the material of his trousers.

he still doesn’t quite know why the three of them were forced to stay together. he’s still wondering where the other four have been taken, if yugyeom is okay and not running low on battery, if jaebum and youngjae aren’t too overwhelmed by what could be hidden here, if jackson isn’t mouthing off too much that would result in physical violence. he knows these boys, these men, this group. his friends. realistically, he shouldn’t, he hasn’t seen them for years, but he can’t deny the fact that he _does_.

looking up at mark’s face, the calmness he finds there gives him a small hope that maybe the witch has an idea of what geun is going to throw at him, that he’s prepared and ready to counterattack as soon as possible. maybe this won’t end badly for the seven of them; because in the end, that’s what it’s boiling down to. the rest of the world isn’t in trouble, it’s just them.

how lonely a concept.

geun returns with a small glass chest in his hands. the edges are held together with metal, a warm glow to it in the light spreading out from the chandeliers. _chandeliers? how the fuck did he manage to get chandeliers in here?_ it looks victorian and out of place in this country, this century, this room. there’s a deep red velvet cushion inside that is keeping the contents of the chest safe.

the man sets it down on the coffee table and turns it so it’s facing the trio. he makes sure that it’s parallel to the edges of the table before he sits back, linking his hands together and letting them rest on his stomach. kunpimook thinks he looks like a typical villain that always gets stopped right at the end.

“if you would, yien, we would be very—”

“no.”

kunpimook watches geun’s jaw snap close, but the smile stays on his lips. the spirit looks at his friend, at the still impassive expression, and notes how his face has paled, almost. he doesn’t want to look at jinyoung, if the cold that radiates from him is any indication as to what the necromancer is feeling at that moment. instead, he decides to look at the glass chest.

inside, on the velvet cushion, sits a small bird’s skull. it can’t be too big, looking as if it could fit easily into the palm of his hand, with a small metal loop screwed into it where it would have connected to a neck. golden thread passes through it and has been swirled on either side of the skull atop the cushion in an aesthetically pleasing manner. again, kunpimook’s fingers find themselves tracing carvings in the bull skull without his permission as he continues to look over the tinier skull. it’s intact, clean, polished, even, and carving free.

kunpimook doesn’t understand.

jinyoung stands abruptly and lets go of kunpimook’s hand. “that’s it, we’re done.”

qiu watches him silently, not moving from her chair, but geun smiles wider and tilts his head. he looks too relaxed for this to end well for them. “I’m sorry, park jinyoung? you’re done?”

“we’re not doing this,” jinyoung spits, again, and the water spirit spies his friend trembling, spies him trying to keep his body in check, trying to act calm and collected but he’s not. he’s absolutely not and it worries him more than anything. “you can’t make us do this.”

geun flicks his gaze from one witch to another, then looks at qiu over his shoulder and laughs. she doesn’t smile at him, doesn’t offer anything that would make her seem amused, but he doesn’t seem too bothered. for the first time, kunpimook vocalises in his head the thought of this man being crazy.

**YOU’RE NOT WRONG.**

“can’t make you do this? and what, exactly, is _this_?” geun’s having fun. he’s teasing them, pulling them along how he wants them to, playing them. kunpimook isn’t okay.

“you—” jinyoung points at the chest, at the bird skull, then quickly drops his hand and curls his fingers into fists when he realises it just makes his trembling more prominent. “you want mark to make the same deal, to sell his fucking soul, but he _won’t_ — you’re not going to. you’re _not._ ”

kunpimook turns his head and looks openly at mark, searching his face. the witch is watching jinyoung with rapt attention, eyes stuck on a part of him, until he eventually lets them settle on kunpimook’s face. their thighs are still pressed together, they’re still close together, huddled, nearly, on the sofa. so it isn’t much of a stretch for mark to lean forward, slipping his arm around kunpimook’s shoulder once more and pull him closer, pressing dry lips to his cheek.

“yien doesn’t have any complaints about this, park jinyoung,” geun says happily, picking up his glass once more and taking a hearty mouthful.

“stop. _calling_ him that. it’s not his name!” jinyoung yells, trying to take a step forward only to bump his shin against the coffee table.

geun just blinks up at him, rim of his glass still touching his lips. “it is his name.”

“it is _not_.” the necromancer points a finger at him now, trembling be damned. kunpimook doesn’t think he’s ever seen so much fury on somebody’s face before. again, he wonders if his friends are worth fearing. “stop acting like you know everything—”

“tuan yien is the name he was born with.”

geun and jinyoung stare at qiu in their own time. jinyoung is immediate, head snapping the few inches required to stare straight at her, face paler than kunpimook’s ever seen and lips pressed into a very thin, very tense line. geun, however, takes another sip and then holds his glass delicate by his fingertips over the edge of the arm of the chair, nearly lolling his head in her direction. it doesn’t look like he’s at all interested in what she has to say.

qiu drops her leg to the floor, heel clacking loudly as it comes into contact with the wood. she shuffles forward and smooths her skirt down for any wrinkles that would have formed from the movement. when she speaks again, she keeps her gaze on jinyoung. “and we all know how much power names hold, don’t we, jinyoung-ssi?”

kunpimook’s shoulders slump and his back curves, body shifting and leaning further into mark. the witch’s hand rubs at his arm in what’s supposed to be a comforting gesture. there’s nothing comforting about this, because they all know. they all know about the power of names and the right words. it’s what they all dabble in, it’s their way of living and their way of life; it’s very hard to ignore the underlining threat in those words as they gently wash over all of them like the ocean’s waves.

jinyoung’s hand drops to his side, then he crosses his arm sharply, jerkily, in an attempt to stop himself from fidgeting too much, probably. or maybe because otherwise he’d be storming out of the room. who knows for certain. what is certain is that there’s yet another threat living in his tone when he says, “don’t, qiu. just don’t.”

 “now,” geun announces. he stands and puts down his drink again, rubbing his hands together. he ignores the staring contest between jinyoung and qiu and gestures towards mark and the chest. “if you would be so kind as to perform the ritual without coercion, we can move along easily.”

mark doesn’t let go of kunpimook during the whole exchange, which the spirit supposes he’s quite happy about, in all honesty. “I’m not joining your coven.”

there’s that condescending look on geun’s face again and he pauses whatever movement he was about to begin, folding his hands together in front of himself. “oh, yien, don’t be a troublemaker like your friends. you’ve got quite a reputation, you know. you ought to stick up to it.”

“reputations can be misleading,” he comments, eyebrows raising minimally as if to convey an unspoken message.

geun becomes tight-lipped and unimpressed. “I’m well aware.”

mark’s dark eyes follow the old man as he moves about once more through the room, struggling several times to slip between objects without knocking them over. kunpimook doesn’t watch him, finds himself bored with knowing what’s about to happen when he’ll find out regardless, and instead becomes transfixed with vines he can spy crawling up mark’s neck. he’s sure those tattoos weren’t there a few days ago. they look new and vibrant, the skin a light pink, showing off its irritation. mark hasn’t been to a tattoo parlour since they all got together.

jinyoung still hasn’t sat down, still stands beside his two friends. however, he’s no longer looking at qiu, no longer staring her down. instead, his gaze is trapped on the glass chest, on the skull inside, and kunpimook finds himself gnawing on his bottom lip, wishing to know what thoughts are circling around inside his friend’s head. he doesn’t think he’ll ever get to know.

it’s not exactly expected, geun to return with two men beside him. they look like they could move a brick house, foundation and all, with just their bare hands. it’s not a pleasing image.

qiu stands abruptly and her heels click along the floor as she manages to leave the room — with more success and ease than geun, kunpimook feels the need to add in his head — and closes the door behind her with a bang. _there’s nothing delicate about that woman._

“this has been going on for far longer than I wanted,” geun says. there isn’t any smiling. no laughter or condescending comments. the humour he had had before with playing them is long gone and kunpimook feels something cold grip his vertebrae one by one. “I do not have the time to wait for the both of you to _decide_ you wish to comply so I’m afraid we’re going to have to speed up the process.”

jinyoung fidgets and — because there isn’t any other space available — places one foot between both of kunpimook’s. his stance doesn’t cut off his view, simply acts as a shield against a possible attack. “you’re not speeding anything up. we aren’t going to _do_ anything.”

geun says nothing. his eyes are sharper than jinyoung’s — something the water spirit never thought possible — and he gestures at the three of them with a nearly dismissive gesture. the two men step forward. the first grasps jinyoung and pulls him out from behind the coffee table all too easily. the necromancer makes an effort to pull on the hold but there’s no doubt that he’s unsuccessful, scrabbling to find something that he could use to keep himself from getting dragged towards the door.

the second man comes and grabs mark. the witch doesn’t flail as much as jinyoung but he puts up a fight of his own kind, leaning away from the man and digging his heels stubbornly into the floor. he glares daggers into the man’s face. kunpimook feels very small and cold when his two friends are taken out of the room. even though the door’s wide open, they turned right and he’s lost complete sight of them.

geun takes a loud step towards him. “spirit,” he sneers, and he says it like he means _fraud_. “why don’t you do me a favour and follow after your friends, hm?”

kunpimook is up on his feet in a matter of seconds, weaving this way and that until he stumbles out of the door and almost smacks into the wall. he holds the skull closer to his chest in both arms, wishing he could reach up and play with his pendant to calm his nerves, to remember the lake where he used to live, the lake that he used to be. instead, he starts down the corridor in the direction he knows his friends disappeared down.

the walk there is tense, with geun telling him where to go. that’s not quite the right verb, _telling_. but he wasn’t barking or biting, either. his voice told the water spirit that he wasn’t happy, that he wished he didn’t have to give directions, that he really didn’t want to but had to anyway, as if he was babysitting an annoying child.

eventually, kunpimook enters a room that is a lot less cluttered than the previous one. compared to it, this room looks bare and empty. there’s, perhaps, the essential pieces of furniture required of a room but little else. the sheer size of it only magnifies the emptiness and kunpimook swallows as his steps slow.

one of the men from before grabs his arm and yanks him over to a chair that he’s forced into. jinyoung is sat next to him, shoulders bunched up by his ears, hands pressed between his thighs, deadly scowl on his face. kunpimook wants to lean into him, hide behind him, maybe, or even run out of the room, but a part of him tells him it won’t do any good, tells him he needs to find mark who seems to be _missing_.

the man stands behind them and there’s a distinct click that rings out in the room. jinyoung’s eyes narrow and kunpimook swallows audibly.

geun walks in purposefully and makes his way to the only desk in the room. he sits behind it and grasps the phone that sits atop it, punching in a number too quickly for anyone to be able to try and estimate what it could have been. his words are short and choppy, but kunpimook doesn’t hear them. his breathing is shallow in his own ears and his shoulders are stiff, thinking about what’s behind them, unsure if it’ll _kill him_.

jinyoung snakes one of his feet over and hooks it around the back of kunpimook’s ankle.

they sit in silence, the spirit trying to focus on where mark is, where they’ve taken him. he can’t be hiding, there isn’t enough stuff in the room to play hide and seek. he can’t see any doors, can’t even see where the other man that geun had brought in with him is. it’s possible mark isn’t even in this room, but placed in another, instead. maybe they’re going to divide them more and more until they’re all alone, unable to communicate to one another.

the door bangs open and three robed bodies move inside. one of them is carrying the glass chest from before, the bird skull still delicately sat inside with its golden thread. in any other situation, kunpimook thinks jinyoung would have called it cute and played around with it, amusing the seven of them by having jackson chased with it.

the chest is settled down on the desk in front of geun and the three robed figures stand to the side, hands folded in front of them, awaiting orders.

kunpimook watches. he watches jinyoung’s knee begin to bounce, his nose wrinkling. he watches the calmness of the robed figures as they stand motionless, heads bowed and faces masked by their hoods. he watches the shadow of the man standing behind him and jinyoung, the way he sometimes twists his head this way and that in order to crack his neck. he watches geun get restless behind the desk, fidgeting in his seat, opening drawers, tracing the metal framing of the glass chest.

it’s when kunpimook himself is getting restless and considers letting the skull fall out of his grip and crack on the floor just so _something_ will happen that the door slams open. it bounces off the wall and a body falls through, crumbling into a pile several feet inside. the spirit starts when yet another man walks in, pulling the body up by its collar, and he recognises mark’s face through the blood and bruises.

jinyoung’s hand is like a vice grip on his shoulder, keeping him grounded and sat.

the man pulls mark along until he’s standing in the middle of the room. kunpimook doesn’t know how long they’ve been waiting for the boy to arrive, but apparently it was enough for his lip to split, a bruise to start blooming on his cheek and a warning slice through his eyebrow. his clothes are a little dirty, too, and the collar of his jumper looks stretched. the spirit’s throat feels dry and the sensation almost makes him panic, almost makes him fall into something akin to an anxiety attack.

the hold on his shoulder tightens to the point where it’s almost painful, where there will be finger-shaped bruises appearing along it in a broken circle. but it’s okay. it’s jinyoung, so it doesn’t really hurt. it just reminds him that this is reality.

“proceed,” geun says.

the three robed figures move and immediately swarm around mark. they form a triangle around him and procure bowls and herbs from inside their robes, something kunpimook had never noticed. he doesn’t think it matters much now, because he can’t do anything. he can only watch on, as they cage mark in a make-shift circle of herbs in bowls for one reason or another that he just _doesn’t know_.

mark’s breathing hard, lips parted and chest heaving. it’s at this point where something deep and crimson trickles gently out of one nostril and curls around his top lip. kunpimook feels his stomach flip and he tries to curl in on himself as best he can.

jinyoung hesitantly lets his grip on kunpimook lessen until his hand falls and hangs limply between their seats. his eyes are pained. there isn’t any other way to explain what’s swimming around in their depths. it’s what it is, what it always will be, in this moment. if this moment were to be captured for an eternity, the necromancer would feel the pain in his chest with every beat of his heart.

the robed figures join hands and move slowly around the circle, murmuring in a language the water spirit doesn’t know, and doesn’t care to know. it’s indistinguishable, white noise in an otherwise silent room, and it’s eerie. it’s too eerie. it’s an eeriness you don’t get from horror movies or books. no. it’s the aftermath. it’s the moment that comes after you’ve watched the film, when you’re alone for whatever reason — maybe you decided to watch it alone for some dumb idea, or your friend left to the bathroom in an otherwise empty home — and your mind is still fixed on the monster, on the feeling, and _it tricks you_. it makes you think you’re not alone, it forces you to hear sounds that aren’t there, it gives you goosebumps up your arms and along your shoulders.

it’s made eerier when kunpimook peaks over the top of the skull and he spies mark through the moving bodies. he’s standing as if his body isn’t his own, as if he isn’t in control; shoulders lax, arms hanging, feet parted shoulder-length apart. his head is bowed and the spirit can’t see his eyes but he’s filled with a want for them to stay away from him.

the chanting is getting louder and there’s something going through the air. it’s not electricity, it’s not magic. it’s a charge. a charge that forces goosebumps along kunpimook’s arms and jinyoung’s cheek. it’s a dread that settles in their bones and reminds them that they have no control. it’s the hopelessness they hold over their own lives, the inability to change a thing, to do anything to stop this.

because there’s a man behind them with a gun, three witches in the middle of some kind of ritual, and an angry man who’s already familiar with jinyoung’s blood.

so when the chanting is drowned out by a scream that doesn’t sound human and mark’s head snaps back so he’s staring at the ceiling, mouth gaping, kunpimook longs for his home, hates his skin, and jinyoung almost cries.


	15. xv

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so now we're getting into the bits that i like and am excited to write and share. i hope you aren't too done with feeling confused and left asking questions, haha. i hope this also makes sense to a point where it's not too confusing (more storytelling than plotwise. because plotwise it's all still very confusing).
> 
>  **warnings:** graphic descriptions of violence, mentions of blood and bruising.
> 
> i hope you guys enjoy!!
> 
> —mack

youngjae knew he was right when he didn’t believe mark’s words of this going over smoothly. now, his suspicion has merely been confirmed.

the room the four of them have been taken to isn’t very pleasing to look at. there’s not much there in sense of furniture or colour; everything seems to be some mix of grey that he feels bored looking at. the four of them sit on the floor against the wall. well, jaebum is, with jackson half-sitting in his lap; and youngjae finds himself laying with his head in both of their laps, somehow, shielded from the rest of the room by yugyeom’s sitting form a foot away from them.

it isn’t clear to youngjae why the seven of them were forced to take the two cars in the manner that they were. qiu seemed adamant about having mark, jinyoung and kunpimook together with the skull. there was an eager glint to her eye when she watched them enter the people carrier. she didn’t look in the direction of the others so much as once after they’d been forced to cooperate with her. it’s a mean thought, he knows, but youngjae is happy he doesn’t have to deal with her.

there’s one other man in the room. in a suit, built like a brick wall, youngjae had felt jaebum tense when the man first entered the room. he didn’t do anything — hasn’t done much yet, either — except stand there, in front of the door, and glare holes into the four of them. youngjae feels like he hasn’t been listening to them, though. there’s a look on his face that says he’s not all there.

youngjae watches yugyeom watch the man. the android’s face is set, mouth a tense line and brows ever so slightly furrowed. a lot of people argue that androids aren’t sentient beings, aren’t _real people_. they’re manufactured and rely on electricity, have no meat to their body, no veins to house blood and no heart to pump it. the arguments youngjae sees the most are the fact that they lack personality, charm, humanity.

there will always be someone against you, youngjae thinks. his life hasn’t been easy living, that he knows, but neither has yugyeom’s. he doesn’t know completely what’s happened with his previous babysitter over the years, or how he looks more human now than before. he isn’t sure he fully wants to know — or if he’s ready to know —, however he’s sure that somewhere, at some point, comments have reached the android, the _artificial life_.

yugyeom is a lot stronger than people give him credit for. and he’s never looked more human than in this moment, youngjae thinks.

fingers run through his hair and he looks up, follows the arm to jackson’s face. the crow’s expression is blank and thoughtful, one eye a little swollen and already bruising, gaze unfocused as it follows his fingers. one of his wings has stubbornly moved between jaebum’s back and the wall, curling around his shoulder, with the other stretched out and touching yugyeom’s back. _protective_.

reaching up, youngjae touches jackson’s hand and feels more than sees the crow’s gaze focus on him. there’s a small, sheepish smile on jackson’s face and he moves to take his hand back but youngjae grabs it instead, holding it in his own against jaebum’s stomach.

the seven of them knew each other once. when they were children, they’d been inseparable best friends. even yugyeom the babysitter had been included in all their games, small hands grabbing onto his own, his jackets, his sleeves, anything they could reach. thinking back now, youngjae wonders if there was more to their relationship than just babysitting. knowing, now, the little he’d gotten out of yugyeom — about switching owners, about not being able to stay in the same house, about why he left their lives — he can’t help but think that maybe the six of them, the six small little kids, made it bearable for yugyeom.

the man in front of the door shifts and the four of them look. yugyeom’s still staring and it’s _unnerving_. he has eyelids — youngjae knows he has he’s _seen_ them — but he doesn’t use them. they’re not a requirement, not a necessity for him in all his artificial glory but he blinks anyway when he’s with them. keeps his chest moving, too, because he knows that the soft rise and fall of it brings them all some form of comfort and normality.

 but he’s not blinking, and his chest isn’t moving, and youngjae can feel chills fall down his spine like a never-ending waterfall.

“where do you think they’ve taken the others?” he asks quietly, forcing his eyes away from the man and back up at jackson.

the blond frowns at the man, then down at youngjae, then up at jaebum. “I don’t know. but I don’t think it’s good.”

“didn’t you visit jinyoung-hyung while he was here?”

jackson’s frown smooths out just a little. youngjae doesn’t think it’s in happiness, but he can’t put his thumb on what it could be. “I didn’t see anything other than his room.”

youngjae nods and lets his gaze slide up to jaebum’s face. he wonders now about the exaggeration that most people place upon the second world that lives on the earth. it’s amazing how much fiction can influence the beliefs of people, allowing them to think that maybe, the reason why their inhuman friends aren’t as exciting as their favourite characters is because they’re simply not tied up with the _right kind of people_ — the ones that tend to lead to conflict, sacrifices and death.

the majority of humans out there just aren’t satisfied with the little things that other species can do, or the difficulty that comes with living like that. growing up himself with an aunt for a pixie, youngjae finds it easier to accept than most, he guesses. he isn’t hung up on an unreal ideal of what faeries or merfolk live like, and he certainly isn’t craving to be swept off his feet by some vampire and whisked off into the night totally willingly and wishing to give all his blood up as soon as he can convince his vampire partner it’s a good idea.

it's idiotic, he decides. and maybe jaebum’s a little idiotic, too, to consider that when the seven of them had gotten together his world would burst into a disorder of mythical creatures and nothing would be normal again. _he didn’t know any better_.

jaebum looks down and catches his gaze. heat spreads like a shot along youngjae’s cheeks and across to his earlobes. he looks up at the ceiling quickly, focusing on the crack that struggles to grow through the cement. _for bragging about being in a coven, they could take better care of their place._

“wherever they’ve taken them, and whatever they’re doing,” yugyeom speaks and the trio behind him stare at the back of his head. the android doesn’t turn to face them, not yet, “it isn’t relaxing and it’s not going to be _nice_.”

youngjae lets go of jackson’s hand to rest both of his on his stomach, drawing his knees up so he can press the souls of his shoes against the floor. fingers move through his hair once more and suddenly there’s warm fingertips running along his forearm until they’re winding around his hand and holding it loosely.

youngjae stares at jaebum.

“they’re not—” jaebum stops, his voice breaks, and he swallows. he waits until slowly, almost reluctantly, yugyeom’s looking straight at him, back straight and eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “they’re not going to kill us _separately_ , are they?”

the fingers still in youngjae’s hair and yugyeom’s gaze hardens — he doesn’t freeze because he’s already frozen, already a master of unmoving parts on the surface. the man at the door laughs. it’s a sound that’s cold and scratchy, as if it’s being forced out of a dry throat and through chapped lips. it’s high-pitched but unpleasing, and it sends the chills down youngjae’s spine again when the man’s expression doesn’t change for a second.

jackson starts smoothing down youngjae’s hair and it’s jaebum’s turn to narrow his eyes at the man. he says, “something funny?”

the man stares straight back. “this is the part where you four build an escape plan without me knowing about it and save your friends, isn’t it.”

slowly, youngjae pushes himself up off his back and moves so he’s sat between jackson and yugyeom, thigh touching the android’s and feathers brushing against his back. he swallows and presses a hand to the crow’s thigh, letting his nails dig into the inseam and follow it back and forth a few inches.

“what makes you think that?” jaebum demands, because that’s the only verb that suits that kind of _voice_ , that kind of _tone_.

“that’s what people who don’t want to die do, right?” the man says. he lacks intonation in his voice, any sense of feeling or personality. youngjae thinks he’s more artificial than yugyeom. “heroes of the movie are stuck in the bad guy’s house and need to save a friend, so they miraculously manage to escape the guards and save the day.”

the only reason jackson doesn’t stand up is youngjae’s thigh on his leg and the hand grasping his bicep tight enough to bruise. “are you saying you’re the bad guys?”

“from your point of view, yes.”

yugyeom hunches over a little, pressing his elbows onto his thighs. he glares the man in the eye then allows his gaze to roam up and down over the figure. youngjae wonders if he’s figuring out if he can take him or not, how much time would pass before yugyeom could have the man on the floor, unconscious. and _only_ unconscious, because youngjae likes to think his friends don’t kill.

jackson moves closer to jaebum, leaning around youngjae and yugyeom in an effort to see the man better. the movement shifts the placement of hands and while jaebum keeps his grip on the crow’s arm, youngjae moves his own off his friend’s leg and instead decides to take comfort from yugyeom. he buries his fingers in the android’s sleeve and not a second later a hand is offered to him, palm up and fingers spread just enough.

“we’re going to live, you know,” jackson calls out.

the man’s expression doesn’t change, nor does his stance. “you lost the privilege to control that when you stepped in.”

jackson frowns, creases forming between his brows, and leans back so he’s not staring at the man any more. he moves his gaze to the side of jaebum’s face, tracing the line of his profile. youngjae watches jackson watching jaebum. he reaches out with his other hand and takes hold of jackson’s in his, feeling the cold metal of rings press against his skin.

“we do have a plan, don’t we?” jackson asks and he’s still staring intently at jaebum.

jaebum’s face is collapsed into concentration, teeth grinding together in slow circles. the cut on his lip has formed a scab and the scrape on his cheek is surrounded by pink, irritated skin. slowly, he eases his grip from the crow’s arm and picks at his nails in his lap. “do we?”

yugyeom turns his head to look at him, finally letting his chest move once more in the act of a deep sigh. he leans to the side, towards the trio, and it presses his thigh even harder against youngjae’s. the young man squeezes the android’s hand and gets a squeeze in return.

“brute force isn’t going to do much,” yugyeom says, and youngjae thinks that if he was human, he would have tension running through every cell of his body. “but it’d make me feel a lot better.”

jaebum glares at him, gaze sharp adding to a sense of _feline_ to his eyes. “we already got in trouble once, yugyeom. just because you don’t ache doesn’t mean we don’t.”

“they have mark,” yugyeom hisses, leaning forward even more and using his hold on youngjae’s hand as leverage. “they have jinyoung, and they have kunpimook. I don’t know what the hell you’re _waiting_ for but I am not content just _sitting here_ while god knows _what_ happens to my friends.”

the human presses a hand to the floor between him and the android so their faces are now only inches away, and says in a very clipped tone, “I am just as upset as you are, yugyeom, however I don’t see an opening when _he’s_ the one who stopped us last time.”

youngjae looks past yugyeom at the door.

“jaebum,” youngjae tries.

“I don’t give a shit if he’s the same man who beat us up last time, I’d feel better knowing I fought until I couldn’t rather than just _wait here_ ,” the android sneers, and it’s so unlike both of them that it forces goosebumps up youngjae’s arms.

“don’t you think I want to be doing something, too? we need a _plan_ , something we can fall back on that gives a chance to actually get out of her rather than end up with something _broken_.”

yugyeom shifts his voice, eyes narrowing even more, and murmurs, “where’s that im jaebum rage you have, huh? where’s it buried?”

youngjae tugs on jackson’s hand and nods with his head. jackson looks. jackson stares.

jaebum leans back in his seat and wipes his hand on his jeans. he swallows thickly and yugyeom traces the movement with his gaze. “don’t, yugyeom, just don’t.”

yugyeom moves about in his spot and shifts closer to jaebum. “don’t tell me you grew out of it. you always threw tantrums when you couldn’t get your way when you were a kid. do you not do that now?”

“I told you, yugyeom,” jaebum hisses, and there’s something hiding in his voice, something underneath. “ _don’t_.”

“yugyeom,” jackson says.

yugyeom looks at jackson, then looks at youngjae. he turns around to look behind him at whatever has captured their attention. he stares.

the man from the door has duplicated himself. it may not actually be a duplicate, youngjae doesn’t know, all he’s aware of is that now there are two men built like a brick wall. they’ve moved several feet away from the door and closer to the four boys.

the four of them are quiet and pensive, youngjae’s gaze shifting between his three friends. he really does not like confrontation, and is the first to say that he’d much rather pretend he’s deaf than actually make his thoughts and feelings known to others. but he thinks today is an exception, maybe. this situation. the four of them have already been in a fight today due to jackson unable to keep quiet and jaebum backing him up. what had surprised youngjae the most was that yugyeom had seemed almost _bloodthirsty_.

youngjae returns to watch the men warily. he doesn’t remember seeing them move. he just remembers the man at the door, and then the two men several feet closer. he wonders if there was any transition between both stages.

there’s movement out of the corner of his eye and yugyeom stands. jackson follows him, so youngjae chooses to as well when he spies jaebum shifting. when he looks back at the two men, they’re closer than they were before and he can feel his heartbeat in his ears.

“it would be best if you were unconscious while waiting for hyacinth,” one of the men say. it’s difficult to tell whether or not he was the original one there, or the second one. or maybe he’s both. youngjae’s head hurts.

yugyeom’s still standing in front of the other three, his tall stature allowing him to shield most of them effectively. jackson’s wings spill out from behind him and jaebum glares at the men from over his shoulder, jaw set and teeth grinding together. the six of them stare each other down, youngjae tracing the scratches along his nose and chin as he does. there’s a small part of him that agrees with yugyeom, that wants to feel the adrenaline when it comes to fighting. you don’t get many possibilities in life to beat someone up and not suffer consequences.

then everything explodes.

yugyeom’s fist connects with a man’s jaw and jackson leaps forward, wings spreading to give him an added height. his feet land on the same man’s chest and send him stumbling back. the second man ignores his friend’s predicament, ignores the grunts and the crow’s spluttering form, the falling feathers, yugyeom tripping over jackson. he moves forward, swiftly, and kicks jaebum in the stomach, grasping the punch thrown at his face.

youngjae’s always been quick. he ducks and weaves with a skill his friends have always marvelled at and he uses it now. he uses it to duck under the man’s radar and kick at his ankle, his shin, ducking under the punch thrown at his own face and narrowly missing the foot that swipes at him. his memories from this part of his life are a bit blurry, he better remembers _sensations_ after this.

there’s stubble under his jaw; he’s winded; pain radiates through his shoulder; his heartbeat builds up in his ears; the adrenaline is making him so _tired_ he doesn’t want to keep going; something cracks under his foot; something gives way under a hit; he’s smacking loudly into the wall, gasping and scratching at his neck as he tries desperately for breath.

what he can visualise easily, is breathing in a burning lungful of air and charging at the man who’s now got jackson’s wing bent at a weird angle — he doesn’t want to think or look at jaebum and yugyeom piled on top of the second man, something squishing under their punches — and throwing his whole body and weight behind a kick that connects—

 

 

 

kunpimook gasps like he’s just managed to survive drowning. it starts with a quick, loud intake of breath and then breaks out into a spluttering of coughs that _burn_. his lungs are on fire and his heart hurts in his chest; he thinks he can feel his pulse in his bones.

he opens his eyes and starts at _green_. it’s filling his gaze, blurred up close and sharpening in his vision the further it gets until it crawls up bark. he presses his hand against the grass and slowly pushes himself up onto his knees, still heaving. he doesn’t remember the feeling of water in his mouth, burning his nostrils. he doesn’t remember _drowning_. he shivers because he’s wet and cold, his clothes sticking to him like a second skin.

a groan to his right. his head whips around, body falling to the left, until he spies jaebum. it should calm his heart and his anxiety. but there’s blood on jaebum’s face and staining his clothes. his lip’s split, there’s a bruise on his cheek, and his knuckles look close to splitting. kunpimook watches jaebum gently rub at his face, pulling his fingers away and squinting at them, examining what’s coating them.

then he looks over.

the water spirit quickly crawls over on his hands and knees, grabbing jaebum’s hand and pressing against his shoulder to help the man sit. he looks around, looks at the grass that they woke up on, at the trees surrounding them and his mind feels completely blank.

“where are we?” jaebum murmurs.

kunpimook can feel a bead of water run down the back of his neck and it’s so _cold_. “I don’t know.”

the canopy of the trees doesn’t look like something they’ve seen before. the leaves aren’t a green they recognise, or a shape they vaguely remember seeing during their lifetimes. it looks like they’re glowing. with a pulse. an imaginary heartbeat they all share, and it’s warm. kunpimook didn’t think he could feel anything but cold when surrounded by green— no, turquoise.

jaebum rubs the back of his neck, digging his fingertips up along the curve of his scalp until they slip off his head. “I’m not ready for this stuff.”

careful, without hurry, kunpimook drags his eyes to his friend. “this stuff?”

“magic,” he bites out, turning his head enough that he can peek at the spirit out of the corner of his eye. “that’s what’s happened, right? magic?”

the spirit searches jaebum’s gaze. he fiddles with the wet and stretched hem of his jumper and swallows, feeling his choker press just a little against his skin. “I guess so.” his eyes slide down the other’s arm to his hands and he forces out, “what _happened_ to you?”

the young man follows his gaze, lifting his hands to stare at his fingers easier. chewing for a second on his tongue, he rubs his index finger and thumb together experimentally. “we got into a little bit of trouble.”

“are the others—”

jaebum looks up at him again. kunpimook drops his gaze and instead reaches for the man’s hands, using the water that sits on his own skin to wipe off the blood as much as he can. there’s something thick sitting in the back of his throat and he doesn’t like it. he freezes when jaebum turns his hand over and curls his fingers around his own hand. he didn’t know he’s shaking.

“I don’t know,” he says honestly, and kunpimook stubbornly stares at their hands, wet and turning pink. “but I really, _really_ don’t think so.”

the spirit lets go of jaebum’s hand too quickly, and then regrets. he’s not one for physical touches, for affection. it puts him on edge, uncomfortable in his skin, and he knows jaebum is the same. physical affection doesn’t come easy to the pair of them, and it’s noticeable now in the way they sit close, jaebum’s ankle pressing against kunpimook’s leg, not seeking more.

simultaneously, kunpimook wants more and is satisfied.

jaebum wipes the wet from his hands and shifts. “can you stand?”

kunpimook starts — again — then makes a small noise in the back of his throat. the two of them stand and jaebum finally seems to notice the water dripping from all over the spirit. he stares unabashedly then frowns.

“what—”

“I think I almost drowned.”

the human’s eyes narrow and he moves just an inch closer. it doesn’t register as a threat, more as a movement of _possession_ , of _protection_. or maybe worry. kunpimook didn’t really know with jaebum. it has been a long time. “they tried to drown you?”

“no,” the water spirit says quickly, feeling his fingers curl slightly around the two rougher ones that slip gently against his palm. “no, they didn’t. I don’t know when it… happened. I just woke up as if I was halfway through drowning.”

eyes travel over his form again, take in the barely noticeable trembling. jaebum sighs, looks to the side, then down at himself. before kunpimook can say anything, a slightly bloodied jacket is thrown over his shoulders. it’s still warm and surprisingly soft. not so surprising is the fact that it’s too big, the seams that sat snuggly on jaebum’s shoulders slipping down kunpimook’s arms.

“come on,” jaebum mutters, fingers curling around kunpimook’s and tugging him forward.

the forest around them never moves from green and brown, turquoise still glowing above their heads and making it almost impossible to look past to see the sky. is it day? night? dawn? dusk? neither of them know, and neither of them know where they are or what they’re supposed to be doing, or where they’re going. there’s tension in jaebum’s shoulders, kunpimook notices, but he suspects it has always been there.

there’s rustling all around them, whether from a wind they can’t feel or animals they can’t see, the leaves never stay still and feet or hooves keep crunching over grass and twigs. bugs are flying through the air, bugs that kunpimook can only hope are dragonflies and butterflies, insects that make their homes in the trees. maybe there are ants under their shoes, along the ground, trying to get food or go home. unsettling as it is, the footsteps that don’t have a body to answer for them, the sensation that they are being watched never arises, never crawls over their skin like insects that make their home at the base of their skull, like the insects that are flying around. and, if it’s possible, it makes kunpimook even more unnerved.

they walk for what feels like fifteen minutes, maybe more, and the scenery refuses to change. there isn’t a single hint of there being a clearing in the future or a lake spreading out and parting trees. kunpimook should feel at home here, surrounded by forest, but it’s not something that he recognises and it crawls around under his skin.

and there’s something glowing out of the corner of his eye.

“bambam!”

the water spirit only has enough time to turn before a body collides with his. arms are wrapping around him and pulling him close, and he wonders why jaebum lets go of his hand so easily and just stands back until the body is pushing him away and holding him at arm’s length.

“are you okay? you’re soaking wet! and… covered in blood?” yugyeom looks him over, eyes quick and shifting along his figure continuously. kunpimook thinks those are the things that were glowing at him.

kunpimook lets out a laugh, tired and almost hysterical. he leans against the hold and smiles at his friend. “I’m okay, I’m fine. the jacket’s jaebum’s.” it’s a curious thing how yugyeom relaxes instead of getting tenser. “I’m happy to see you.”

“I’m happy to see you, too.”

jaebum coughs, clears his throat, and takes a step closer. “what am I? chopped liver?”

one of yugyeom’s hands leave kunpimook’s shoulder to grasp at jaebum, and the spirit misses it but pushes the feeling down, because yugyeom is smiling and jaebum is trying so hard not to. “you know I’m glad to see you, too. I’m always glad to see you.”

it’s childish, but jaebum pulls a face as he’s dragged closer, forced into what could only be discovered as an overzealous hug. kunpimook laughs tiredly from where his face is squished into someone’s shoulder, an elbow digging into his side and one of his feet stepping on somebody else’s. it’s over in a matter of seconds and then the three of them are standing in an awkward triangle.

“do you know where we are?” kunpimook asks, pulling at the jacket so it doesn’t slip off too much.

yugyeom looks around, eyes catching the turquoise heartbeat above their heads and keeping to it. silence, the android frozen, staring at the leaves until jaebum hisses his name and gives his shoulder a small shove. yugyeom starts and looks down at them. kunpimook doesn’t think it should be possible for something that isn’t technically alive to have eyes that look unfocused.

“huh?” yugyeom asks.

“do you know where we are,” jaebum repeats, keeping their eyes locked, keeping his hand on the other’s shoulder.

yugyeom blinks, slow, deliberate. he blinks again. it’s a forceful thing, because he doesn’t need to do this. he never has. _is he picking up human habits?_ “no. no, I don’t.”

kunpimook swallows, and sees that same glowing out of the corner of his eye. he ignores it, for the moment. “I don’t think you should look at the leaves again.”

the android doesn’t question him, doesn’t ask him what he means, just nods. kunpimook has an itching feeling that his friend knows what happened, that he was… was mesmerized by the heartbeat, by whatever is the essence of this forest. and a small part of him is glad for that.

“what happened with you, anyway?” yugyeom asks quietly. they’re moving again, walking slowly along what seems to be the same scenery again and again and again. the crunching outside of the three of them is still happening, still reaching their ears, the bugs still fly at them, around them, and the feeling of being watched still isn’t quite there yet.

kunpimook blinks and looks over, finding that jaebum is also sending him looks over his shoulder. he rubs at his face, running his fingers through damp hair. “they did a ritual with mark? there were three other witches and they were performing a ritual. around him. with him in the centre? I’m not—” taking a deep breath, the spirit rubs his hand down his face. “I don’t know what it did. all I know is that when I handed the skull over, I woke up here and it felt like waking from a dream.”

yugyeom stops the movement of his chest as he stares at kunpimook. he doesn’t start blinking again. jaebum bristles to the side and stands up straighter, eyes narrowing and teeth grinding together. kunpimook understands their anger, knows what it must sound like, and he’s pretty sure if he hadn’t been there, and hadn’t witnessed it, he’d be angry, too, and not just scared out of his mind.

“they did _what_?” yugyeom asks quietly.

jaebum flexes his fingers, curling them into fists and uncurling them. “I think we need to find the others.”

kunpimook nods. “yes. yes, we need to. I don’t— they wanted mark to join their coven, too, and jinyoung—” stubbornly, kunpimook takes a deep breath. he reaches a hand up to finger his pendant and feels _calm_ flow down his spine once more. “jinyoung was scared. I was terrified. I think it’s about time we got these people out of our lives.”

jaebum shares a look with yugyeom and kunpimook is certain the two of them have managed to get to the point where they can have silent conversations. then jaebum nods and the three of them are moving again, moving along the scenery that never changes with that same thing glowing out of the corner of kunpimook’s eye, that is never there when he stares at it. it’s driving him insane, making him paranoid and forcing him to look over his shoulder every time.

but one time he catches it. it lingers when he snaps his head to the side and there it is. he grasps the sleeve closest to him, not really caring which one of his friend’s it is, just so long as he has their attention, because he’s creeping closer and—

 

 

 

jinyoung launches forward in his seat with his chest burning as if he’d had a heart attack.

his eyes snap open as he’s jerked to a halt and a truck honks loudly as it passes by. his chest heaves as he tries to breath, whole body trembling with his fingers itching to curl into fists, and he slowly looks down to see the arm pressing against him. he leans back in his seat until he feels cold wood against him and follows the arm up to the shoulder and then the face.

the necromancer leans heavily on the crow’s shoulder and closes his eyes. his hands come up to grasp jackson’s arm and hug it to his chest almost, breath loud and shaky. to his friend’s credit, jackson doesn’t remove his arm and lets him do as he pleases.

it isn’t silent around them. there’s a city, or a town, or something, that much jinyoung can gather from the sounds and what little he glimpsed at. and the life around them continues to grow and be as he catches his bearings. it takes him a few minutes until he slowly opens his eyes and takes in his surroundings.

a road in front of him, not overly busy, maybe a car a minute, maybe less. it’s one way, with closed shops behind, the shutters down and locks in place. nobody’s walking on that side of the road, not that jinyoung can see. the signs above the shops — the names, the times, information — are in a language he doesn’t recognise, can’t read. there aren’t people around but he can hear footsteps and the whispers of conversation swirling around him.

it’s a ghost town.

the necromancer lifts his head and lets go of jackson’s arms. his hands rest in his lap and rough, warm fingers are slipping between his and curling. he looks over again, and jackson’s staring at him. just beyond, he spies youngjae, and youngjae’s leg is bouncing nervously against the floor.

jinyoung looks at jackson again. “dear god, what happened to you?”

“got in a little fight,” jackson provides. one eye is swollen and bruised; there are fingertip sized bruises on his neck. the necromancer spies something red on clothes and hands, less when he leans forward to look at youngjae better. “then everything kind of—”

he looks back at the crow and lets out an uneven breath. “yeah. everything kind of.”

jackson looks away and watches a car pass by. there are people in that car; there’s a person behind the wheel and a passenger next to them, probably squabbling about the radio. or jinyoung thinks there is. there might not have been anyone there, it might have been a trick of the light, the car might have been moving too fast. the windows were fogged up or tinted, or jinyoung’s vision is still blurry from his too young body almost having a heart attack.

youngjae’s leg continues to bounce and he’s pulling at his sleeves, rubbing over what jinyoung can only consider to be sore knuckles. “I don’t like this.”

“me neither,” jackson says.

“did we all… wake up on this bench?” _wake up_ is a fucked up way to put it. there isn’t any other way he can think up of expressing it that doesn’t make it sound fucked up.

youngjae nods.

jinyoung looks around himself. the shops behind them are also closed and locked, the signs in languages he doesn’t recognise or understand, proclaiming a few sales in the window with large numbers and percentages. again, nobody is walking along the pavement, there are no dogs sniffing at the trees dotted every six feet, nothing. but he hears the footsteps and the whispers of conversation and shivers down his spine.

“why haven’t you stood up?” jinyoung asks, returning his attention to his friends. for one reason or another, none of them move to face the others better and jackson keeps his wings as close to his body as he can manage sitting down on a wooden bench.

youngjae eyes him. “do you feel comfortable standing in this place?”

“we were waiting for you.” jackson stares at their clasped hands.

the necromancer looks between their faces, then past them and down the street, then back behind him, wondering if he’ll find a car coming down the road. something scratches at his palm and he fights the urge to pay attention to it. something isn’t right.

“I don’t think we should stay here,” he says.

the crow locks gazes with him before slowly moving to his feet. jinyoung stands due to their locked hands and soon jackson’s pulling youngjae up, too, and the three of them shuffle about until they can stand easily on the pavement without squishing. youngjae reaches out and curls his fingers around the necromancer’s bicep, getting his attention, then slips his hand down until he links their fingers, knots them together.

jinyoung chews on his bottom lip and looks behind him. there’s a feeling of a hand on the small of his back, an apology as someone he doesn’t see, doesn’t exist, tries to move past them. he swallows thickly and narrows his eyes. no. this isn’t a ghost town. these people aren’t dead. they’d never existed in the first place.

had they?

“jinyoung-hyung,” youngjae says quietly, yanking on his hand. when they lock eyes, youngjae stops worrying his bottom lip. “where are we? what happened?”

he doesn’t know what to say; doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. youngjae’s looking at him in a way that tells him he’s waiting, hoping, for an answer, but he isn’t going to be disappointed if jinyoung doesn’t have one, can’t offer him one. it feels surreal. all of this feels surreal. he’d been clinging to kunpimook, watching as mark’s tattoos swam over his skin and he tried to claw his eyes out, his lungs, his heart.

jinyoung whirls around where he’s standing and stares behind him, hands slipping out of the grips until youngjae and jackson are the only ones still holding hands. his gaze darts around their surroundings, from shop to shop, occasionally lingering on a tree, occasionally unfocusing, staring at someone who isn’t there and never was thee, never will be there.

“you can feel them, too, right?” he says, not looking at them.

“them?” jackson sounds uncertain.

“them. people.” jinyoung turns and spies both jackson and youngjae staring at him. youngjae’s worrying his bottom lip again, tugging on his sleeves, and jackson’s wings keep twitching. “people. people that aren’t here, that don’t exist! but they do!”

youngjae looks over jinyoung’s shoulder, as if he’s trying to see what jinyoung sees, but jinyoung knows he doesn’t, he can’t, because his eyes are focusing. they never glaze over, they just keep looking, searching, and it makes jinyoung more uneasy than he cares to admit.

“jinyoung-ah,” jackson says and he’s looking right at him, refusing to look away, to search for something he knows he can’t see. “you can contact with spirits. are you sure they’re not just dead people who haven’t moved on?”

he swallows and crosses his arms over his chest, one hand wrapping around his one side and the other coming to rest just below his shoulder, thumb rubbing. “they don’t feel dead. they don’t… it’s as if they never _were_ , jackson.”

the crow looks from jinyoung to youngjae and bristles, feathers trembling as they try to stretch without _stretching_. “I think we should move.”

youngjae steps forward, closer to the two of them. he takes a deep breath, and this is where jinyoung remembers how easily scared the younger boy can get some times, and tries to put on his best nonchalant expression. it doesn’t work very well. “where do we go, hyung?”

jinyoung looks behind him once more. it’s still empty, still filled with invisible people but there’s a sensation that makes him think he knows which way they’re going. scanning the street, he drops his hands to his sides and takes a deep breath himself. “this way, I think.”

the three of them move, youngjae stubbornly walking beside jinyoung with jackson a foot behind them, wings spreading just enough to cover both of their backs. the feeling of being pushed aside doesn’t fade away and jinyoung wonders why everyone is moving the other way, why they’re the only people going up rather than going down. there has to be a reason.

they reach the end of the street. there aren’t any signs or names that would tell them which direction they need to move in, where they’re supposed to go. and even if there were, jinyoung’s sure none of them would be able to read them. youngjae suggests turning left and they do so, wandering down more and more empty streets, passing flat blocks and closed shops and wondering. wondering where the hell the inhabitants have gone.

the place doesn’t look abandoned or run down. it’s clean and well-kept, with scuff marks on the floor and the odd car or truck still passing by, honking their horns at them. every time, jinyoung can never be sure whether or not there are people inside, if the car is being driven or is driving itself. could cars drive themselves in this weird place? were they even on earth any more? it doesn’t feel like it any more.

they turned another corner and jinyoung stops dead. youngjae trips and stops breathing, wrapping his fingers around the necromancer’s wrist. jackson bumps into the two of them, wings flapping in order to keep his balance. a small exclamation is cut short when he looks past them.

“oh,” jackson says.

“what is this?” youngjae says.

“fuck,” jinyoung says.


	16. xvi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm really sorry that these are taking me longer and longer to do!! but i've been hit with writer's block recently and, although that allows me to advance in my art and stuff, it means hell any time i try to write this. i hope this lives up to the wait, though, and thank you for being patient!!
> 
> enjoy yourselves!!
> 
> —mack

mark feels the air sting his throat as he breathes in deeply, sharply, blank fingers curling against the cement of the floor. there’s too much happening inside his body, inside his head, he feels disorientated and unable to focus on the world around him.

his blood is stinging in his veins, burning him from the inside out with his heart acting as the furnace; pressure dances around his temples, his eye sockets, his jaw; there’s the feeling of him floating outside of his body, watching his fist press against the floor, the tremor that runs up his arm, the hair that trembles in his peripheral vision, but not identifying any of it as _his_. it takes him a little longer than he would like to realise that he’s trembling.

breathing is hard and such a chore he thinks giving up might be easier, might take less of a toll on his body. he wants to swallow, to lick his lips, to open his mouth enough that he can breathe through it instead. he thinks these things, lets the thoughts fill his head but his body doesn’t follow. it’s almost as if something or somebody else is stopping him from doing it. as if his body is under somebody else’s control.

slowly, he pushes himself back until he’s sitting on his heels, registering his shoes digging into him. a hand raises to press against his chest, as if that would calm the burn, as if that would assure him this is his body. he doesn’t remember telling the hand to move. panic sits at the bottom of his mind, snuggly curled around the top of his spine, but it doesn’t flare. it can’t flare; there isn’t enough energy in his body to allow it to act upon itself.

his throat feels dry, swallowing painful, mouth sucked of moisture as if he’d eaten a mouthful of cotton. his head’s still bowed, eyes tracing over the hand in his lap, the twitching of his thighs under the denim of his jeans. the blank skin of his hand unnerves him and sends something ice cold shooting down his spine. slow and calculated, he looks up. the three robed figures from before are standing in front of him in a line, mere feet away; the two on the ends have their hands clasped together in front of them but the one in the middle is holding the glass chest delicately in both hands. as if it was a queen’s tiara.

nobody says a word and mark tries to look at the faces under the hoods but there’s… there’s a darkness, something black that veils anything that could possibly resemble features. their masters of hiding, or secrets, he thinks. maybe that’s what they are, maybe that’s why they don’t speak or show their faces. the sound of footsteps to his right make him snap his head over — the lack of spinning world forcing the wind out of his lungs — and watch geun move across the room, a grin on his face. a grin that’s just as unsettling as everything else about the man. it fills mark with the unease he hasn’t managed to shake since coming here, since stepping a foot inside.

it feels like a slap to the face.

“well, tuan yien,” geun says and the grin only spreads. it looks like the joker’s smile; false and fabricated and ready to split his face in half. “it worked. and you’re now free.” he stops in front of mark, between him and the robed figures, and spreads his hands out about himself. “a _thank you_ is in order, don’t you think?”

mark doesn’t say anything. not for lack of want, or a lack of will. he simply _can’t_. his mouth isn’t listening to him, isn’t showing him any control over it and it’s—

geun doesn’t stop smiling. “what? can’t speak? everything’s a little overwhelming, isn’t it?” he steps forward, enters the circle — it’s broken, bowls scattered about and upturned, contents spilled on the floor or burnt in the bowls, it’s no perfect, and _did he do that? was that him?_ — around mark and crouches down in front of him. he’s wearing too much cologne and it burns the back of mark’s throat. or that could just be mark’s throat, he doesn’t know. “but you still need to say thank you. especially when we were so kind as to prepare your own little _life buddy_.”

it’s cruel and unnecessary. it’s a joke. all of this is a joke and he can’t escape it, can’t get out because he’s still sat there, on the floor, grasping at his shirt as if that could calm his heart, his pain, his anxiety that this body still isn’t _his_.

geun stares him in the eyes, forearms resting on his thighs and it’s— mark feels exposed and vulnerable. there’s too much of him and not enough body, he’s leaking out at the edges and it hurts. it hurts so much he doesn’t know how he’s still sitting here, how he’s not keeling over and clawing at his own throat in an attempt to bleed out what can’t find a home.

“do you know what we’ve done, yien?” geun asks. his smile is getting smaller, but it’s still there, still present, still stretching thin lips unpleasantly. _smug._ “do you know what you are now?”

mark can’t talk, can’t say anything, and it’s slowly eating him up inside. so he just stares. he can only stare and it’s— there’s something else inside him, other than his burning blood, the pressure in his skull, the difficulty of breathing. something else he could name if he thinks hard enough, if he gave it enough attention but he can’t because geun’s _right fucking there_ and he’s helpless—

“your potential was hidden,” geun continues. the ring on his ring finger glints in the light and mark feels uncomfortable. “you could do so much more and yet you were so limited. just like hyacinth.”

he narrows his eyes, glares as much as he can, but that blurs his sight, forces the pressure in his temples to heighten, to pulse in his eyes and obscure his vision. a hiss escapes his lips and he relaxes his eyes but it doesn’t help, if anything it makes it _worse_ , the colours too vibrant, too in his face. he has to close them. he has to close them and lose sight of geun, of the bastard that decided all of this was necessary.

“it was her idea, actually, to give you the same freedom.” geun stands or mark thinks he does. there’s the sound of cloth rubbing against cloth in front of him, and he turns his head to listen like a blind man. footsteps only confirm his theory. “something about owing you after you helped her. a gift. if you want to call it that.”

_I don’t._

“but it’s only half done.”

the fingers embedded in mark’s jumper slowly loosen their grip and work their way up to rub at his eyes, pressing harshly against them. he blinks a few times, ignoring the way it still hurts, it still pounds with his heartbeat, and stares at geun. the man is now holding the glass chest in his hands, almost lovingly, mark thinks. and maybe that’s the creepiest thing of all.

geun walks forward and crouches in front of mark once more, opening the chest. he holds it out and the bird skull stares back at mark. “you’re hurting, aren’t you? if you take this and agree, it’ll stop. if you don’t, it’ll just get worse.”

mark narrows his eyes. his gaze drags up from the skull to look at geun through fingers. his lips feel ready to curl, to sneer, and he feels an almost primal urge to attack the fucker in front of him. it surprises him more than anything he’s come across so far, and maybe the stunned silence he’s set in is the reason geun shoves the chest a little harder at him.

“you need to take it, yien. I can’t do this for you.”

mark stares down at the skull. this is precisely what he didn’t want to do, never wanted to do. he told jaebum that he wouldn’t. he said that he never would. the deal that hyacinth made — that very few witches have made in their lives — is one he had plans to never take part in or even consider. there’s a mixture of panic and apprehension now flowing through his body, trickling down from his head to his shoulders, down his back like sweat. he swallows.

he reaches out with one hand and curls his fingers around the thread. the bird’s skull weighs more than he thought it would, but also less than he thought it would. it’s a weird combination of opposites as it dangles there, gently turning one way and another in the air. the bone is so blank compared to the bull skull from before, like a canvas ready to be filled with the life mark now has to give it.

looking up past the skull, he locks eyes with geun. unaltered glee meets him and he’s quick to look elsewhere, to look away, staring instead at the figures behind geun, at the robed witches. they’re completely still, with their hands folded in front of them, the shadows from the hood still obscuring their faces. he thinks that, maybe, it’s for the best he can’t see them.

his other hand reaches up to grasp the skull and he hunches over as he cradles it in his palms. the bone is smooth and soft, not a single crack visible or residue from whatever clung to it in a precious life. running his thumbs over the arch of the eye sockets, he closes his eyes and feels his heart simultaneously plummeting and rocketing. he wants to throw up. but instead, he brings the skull to his lips and gently presses a kiss to the forehead.

 

 

 

 

 

“we’re— we’ve already been here. did we just walk in a circle?” youngjae says quietly, softly, almost a whisper but not quite.

jackson breathes out deeply and suddenly there are arms wrapping around jinyoung and youngjae’s waist, pulling them back one step, two, until the three of them are pressed together. jinyoung can feel jackson’s breath on his cheek and youngjae’s grip on his wrist, thumb rubbing over sensitive skin carefully. it’s only then that jinyoung realises he’s scared and leaning heavily into his friends.

he feels like screaming.

a road in front of him, not overly busy, maybe a car a minute, maybe less. it’s one way, with closed shops behind, the shutters down and locks in place. nobody’s walking on that side of the road, not that jinyoung can see. the signs above the shops — the names, the times, information — are in a language he doesn’t recognise, can’t read. there aren’t people around but he can hear footsteps and the whispers of conversation swirling around him.

 “okay.” jackson swallows and tightens his grip, taking a step back and forcing the others to follow. “okay, we’ll just—we’ll just walk back. see if we took a wrong turning or something, start again.”

jinyoung nods dumbly and allows youngjae to hold his hand and pull him along when jackson releases the two of them from his hold. his head is turned over his shoulder, eyes darting over the same stupid street they woke up on. the three of them walk up to the corner and step around it—

a road in front of them, not overly busy, maybe a car a minute, maybe less. it’s one way, with closed shops behind, the shutters down and locks in place. nobody’s walking on that side of the road, not that jinyoung can see. the signs above the shops—

“what,” jinyoung says quietly. he yanks his hand out of youngjae’s grip and stumbles back around the corner. the same road stares back at him and he feels himself losing it. can feel his brain liquefying. “what the _fuck_.”

jackson curls his fingers around jinyoung’s elbow in a vice grip and the necromancer looks, sees the crow’s face contorted in an effort to keep it from showing fear, but jinyoung knows. he knows when youngjae rubs at his face, unwilling and hesitant to let his hands drop to his sides once more; he knows when jackson’s lips pale with the force to keep them in a straight line; he’s not the only one who’s terrified.

 

 

 

 

mark thinks that the skull might be smiling at him. it’s unchilling, he supposes, considering that, first of all, the thing’s dead. and it doesn’t have lips. it only has teeth to bare at him and, as much as he hates to admit it, with them it’ll always be smiling at him. but that’s not the feeling he’s getting. if he had been doubtful before about what geun wanted him to do, he’s not any more.

“it is nice when people do as they’re told,” geun says. mark curls his fingers tighter around the skull, feeling his way along to the thread. his eyes stay on the older man as he passes the thread over his head and lets the skull thud gently against his chest until it settles. he thinks his expression might be cutting because geun shakes his head, air whistling out from between his lips. “there’s no need to look at me like that, yien. we’ve done you a favour that you wouldn’t have done yourself without a push.”

mark gets to his feet and stands with surprising ease. he doesn’t feel light-headed, doesn’t feel the pressure from before. there’s warmth dancing along his skin and he blinks, raising hands to stare at the blank skin. or the once blank skin. the vines that are tattooed up his arms curl around his thumb, his middle finger, leaves rustling as if a breeze lived in his flesh, shifting flowerheads around until they sat gently in a crowd on the back of his hand, a rose in the middle of his palm, a calming warmth sliding along his collarbones and up his neck.

“you’re ready to meet hyacinth,” geun announces, forcing mark’s attention away from his own body — from the moving, living tattoos settled on it — to the older man in front of him.

the man walks towards the back of the room, behind the desk that he had sat behind previously and disappears out of a door. mark focuses instead on the robed figures, again, and blinks. they’re standing right in front of the seats where kunpimook and jinyoung had been at the beginning of the ritual. he cranes his neck, takes a step forward inside the ring — the _broken ring_ —, in an effort to get a better look. the robed figures take a step forward, making the witch pause and return to his previous position.

the door opens again and geun enters quickly, hand on the doorknob and opening it as wide as possible. mark narrows his eyes and tenses his shoulders at the woman that enters the room. the skull against his chest starts heating up until he fears that it’ll set fire to his clothes.

she doesn’t look like what humans thought old witches to be; warty and hunched over, with too many wrinkles for her face, a hooked nose and long nails that resemble claws. there isn’t a doubt that she’s old, that she’s been alive for a good lifetime and a half, maybe more. that’s not the problem. the problem is that she looks… ordinary, under what she’s wearing. her skin hangs and creases, yes, her eyes are sunken in and her lips thin, but so does everyone else’s when they reach seventy. or over. her nails are short, chipper, yellowed and her hair’s a faded lavender mess of curls and frizz. if she wasn’t wearing a dress and cape that looked as if they hadn’t been updated since the 1600s she’d fit in as someone’s grandmother. mark wonders vaguely if she is.

he feels sorry for her grandchildren.

she walks into the room, lacking a broom or wand or staff or any other typical thing humans liked to dress witches with. some still insist to this day that witches are just hiding these things because they’d taken such a vehement stance against the stereotype. mark knows better. hell, the whole witch species knows better.

mark stands just a little straighter when the old woman stops beside the robed figures and glares at him. she’s not looking nor peering. he doesn’t think she’s capable of that. she glares; with her brows furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line and one hand fiddling with gems hanging from numerous necklaces around her neck. her eyes are a piercing, baby blue that chill him to the bone.

“tuan yien,” she says and he blinks. the voice is too young for the body, too lively, too… juvenile. “we meet. again.”

“we’ve never met,” he manages, finding his voice deep within his ribcage.

she sniffs, one corner of her lip twitching upward in disgust. “you were a baby. you don’t remember.”

he looks down at her hands. her skin is darker than his. darker than his was when he lived in america. he doesn’t want to look back up at her face; the sharpness of her eyes is unnerving and makes him want nothing more than to scratch his skin until he bleeds.

“I told your mother you would do well in life,” hyacinth continues. gems clink together in her hold, the loudest sound in the room. “told your mother your family would do well with me. she wasn’t interested. neither was your father.”

“neither am I.”

she makes the same disgusted face from earlier and smooths her hand down her front. deep purple from a cut crystal catches mark’s eye. “yes. your family doesn’t understand the idea of strength in numbers.”

“your coven isn’t of interest to us.” mark looks up at her face and swallows. the eerie feeling of someone invisible holding his hand slowly makes itself known. like fingertips dancing along his skin, from his neck, over his shoulder, and down his arm until he feels them on his palm. “too much dependency required.”

she stares at him as if he’s grown a second head. “and what do you expect from covens, yien?”

he tilts his head ever so slightly to the side. “it’s a group of witches. a gathering. nothing more.”

“don’t go believing those ignorant humans. they don’t know anything of our species! they think we wave wands like harry potter. what a waste of exposure.”

tempted to move out of the circle, he shifts his weight from foot to foot and chews on his bottom lip. the invisible palm is still pressed against his own and he swears he can feel fingers slipping between his own. it would be unnerving in any other situation, he’s sure, under any other circumstance, an invisible hand holding your own would be a cause for panic. but here, he can feel reassurance unfurling against his shoulder blades.

“yien,” hyacinth says. she walks closer and stops just outside of the broken circle, staring at him. he doesn’t think she’s blinked since she’s walked into the room. “I’m giving you the option to join the coven now that we have done you a favour and have you here. it’s pretty simple; our coven could use someone as strong as you. if not, I’m sure whatever awaits in the afterlife will take some interest in you.”

he feels better with the hand holding. more secure in himself as a being. “are all elderly witches as interested in making poetry of simple threats?”

part of him had expected a smile from her. the sneer to her lips is equally as interesting.

 

 

 

 

the fairy floats in the air, wings beating so fast they blur against the forest. kunpimook stares, fingers slowly uncurling from what turns out to be yugyeom’s sleeve. in the light from the canopy, the water spirit can’t tell if the fairy is green to blend in, extremities brown like bark, or if the creature is merely tinted.

yugyeom says nothing behind him, lips parted in concentration as his eyes dart all over the fairy. his foot slowly places itself back on the ground from where it had been hanging in the air, ready to take the next step forward. he holds information about as many creatures as possible in his head, both a requirement from the manufacturers of androids, and also to the wishes of his previous owners. and it’s this information that he’s sorting through in an effort to gather anything he knows about the fairy in question.

the creature gazes at them with eyes that look far too big for its head; the two, small, glowing lights kunpimook had kept seeing out of the corner of his eye. the way its body has been made is slightly gnarled, long and thin, easily mistakeable for a twig or a small branch if you don’t look close enough. but it’s still so delicate, so soft looking and fragile kunpimook forces himself not to touch it. he’s sure there are other reasons not to touch it — better reasons such as angering or offending it — but he finds himself unable to care too much about them.

yugyeom’s hand on the small of his back makes him jump, arm twitching up to his chest in an attempt to both protect himself and the choker that ties him to his home. yugyeom looks just as startled as he does, back straightening in the blink of an eye.

there’s a quiet noise from in front of them and the two friends manage to spy the fairy before it zips past them, zooming in front of jaebum. the poor young man hadn’t noticed anything to do with his friends’ new discovery and lets out a yelp, jerking backwards when the fairy flies inches away from his face.

he looks back over his shoulder and spies yugyeom and kunpimook. “what?”

before either can answer, there’s rustling in the trees and bushes around them. more heads and bodies pop out, curiosity coating the faces of the fairies that fly forward. some of them are like the first fairy, camouflaged to look like branches and bark and leaves. but there are other ones, larger and smaller, with bigger wings that look to be twice the size of their bodies and made of petals. covered in soft colours and masked in a sweet fragrance, they look to be the stuff of fairytales and dreams than actual fact.

kunpimook swallows, dragging his eyes away from a butterfly-like fairy that’s floating closer than the rest, dainty little feet pointed. “I think we might be in the middle of a fairy forest.”

yugyeom slowly walks closer to jaebum, eyeing the fairies around them, the way some stay wherever they are, almost frozen, and others fly around and around slowly. none of the little creatures take their eyes from the three friends, very much consumed in either interest or curiosity as to what they’re doing there.

“you what?” jaebum manages, voice croaking a little and catching him off-guard. he heaves out a heavier breath than needed when yugyeom curls his fingers around his elbow.

“a fairy forest. you know, home of fairies type thing?” the water spirit replies perhaps a little too cheekily for the situation, but he’ll live. “I don’t… I don’t know if they’re hostile.”

“they don’t look like they’re about to chase us out,” yugyeom supplies helpfully. “I haven’t been around fairies in so long I don’t remember… much about them.”

“that’s fine,” kunpimook says quickly and moves closer to the other two. “I think we’re okay. we should probably just… keep moving.”

“keep moving?”

“keep moving.”

 

 

 

 

mark watches the robed figures leave the room and wishes he could curl his fingers around the hand holding his, but all he can do his form a fist with his hand. so he resists, tries to keep his shoulders as relaxed as possible. hyacinth hasn’t moved, still sneering at him from his remark. the last few minutes of silence have started to get to him, itching under his skin, but then again that might be his tattoos moving over his body.

“do you have an answer for me, then?” hyacinth demands, moving forward until she’s standing in front of an upturned bowl. the burned contents of it dirty the hem of her dress but she seems unfazed.

he stares at her face, vehement against trying to figure out where the robed figures have gone and why he’s suddenly left alone with hyacinth and geun. “I’m still not interested.”

she sniffs and crosses her arms over her chest, crystals clinking together until they’re pressed against her. “I thought as much. you’re wasting an amazing opportunity.”

“I wouldn’t necessarily call it an opportunity.”

with narrowed eyes, hyacinth tightens her grip on her bicep and moves away, dress dragging along the floor and collecting burnt contents and dust as she goes. mark watches her, watches her stop beside geun, and then has his attention rudely snatched by the three robed figures entering the room once more. one of them is now holding the bull skull that seems suddenly very quiet.

“if you aren’t going to join, you might as well serve some purpose before you die,” hyacinth says bluntly. her eyes, too, are watching the robed figures move into the room. the three stop in front of her and the bull skull is offered on steady hands. hyacinth takes one last look at mark, who’s sure he can feel her disgust like a second skin, before taking the bull skull in her hands and pressing her forehead to its gently.

the feeling of rising bile consumes mark before—


	17. xvii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, i found out that today is a friend's birthday, and because she's a huge fan of witch au, i thought that i could add to a simple happy birthday message with the update to this. because this chapter has been dragging my arse. i scrapped the first 6k draft and then ended up rewriting it all from scratch. it also turned out longer than i thought it would, but I've managed to give it a few tweaks to plot that allows me not to make the chapter too long, mix things a little easier, and also upload today. so yay!!
> 
> i hope this chapter was worth the wait and isn't super stilted. thank you guys so much for all your support, ilysm!!
> 
> —mack

it’s pure instinct, jackson decides. an impulse. one minute he’s in the middle of an empty town square, standing on the edge of a fountain with only his wings keeping him from falling into the water, and the next he’s darting forward, arms and wings wrapping around kunpimook’s frame before he hits the ground.

kunpimook stares up at him, brown eyes wide and face pale.

there’s something in this town. it feels alive, like there’s electricity in the air. no, not electricity, a charge. a charge of something that’s forcing its way into jackson’s body and hijacking his red blood cells, slowly spreading itself out into his body. he’s hyper aware of every single thing that has to do with his body, every hair, every cell. there’s power and strength itching in his joints and his bones that he’s sure he hasn’t felt before. he doesn’t think this new strength is his own.

jackson slowly eases the two of them up into sitting positions before he retracts his wings and arms. he wonders if kunpimook is feeling the same thing he is. he wonders why the boy looks so pale. he doesn’t move away from the water spirit, though, instead keeps sat beside him, their knees bumping together if either of them move so much as an inch. the cobble-like floor they’re sat on is uncomfortable and digs into them, hard, rough and worn down from years of being stepped on. or, at least, that’s what jackson assumes.

“what—”

“hey!”

kunpimook jumps and smacks his shoulder into jackson’s, whose wings curl around the two of them in an effort to protect them. the two peer out from the crack between black feathers with wide eyes at the young woman who’s storming over to them. they’ve barely been here, what, two minutes? and they’ve already been singled out. she’s not tall, but the explosion of frizzy orange curls that frames her face is enough to make the two of them falter.

“what do you think you’re doing!?” she hisses and she’s speaking english so quickly jackson almost doesn’t understand a thing. kunpimook’s still staring owlishly at her, jaw slackening just a little when she reaches out and tries to push jackson’s wings out of the way. “do you not have any desire for preservation!?”

jackson’s quick to wrap an arm around kunpimook and pull him closer, chest pressing into his back and taking comfort in the warmth that seeps through, bracing his wings against this weird woman. _who they don’t know_. essentially a stranger. he feels like a child caught several hours up after their bedtime with the way she’s refusing to look anywhere but straight at them. she narrows her eyes when neither of them say or do anything, and she crosses her arms over her chest.

“you can’t just— _be_ here! like this.” she gestures wildly at the black wings circling the two of them, then steals looks about them. the place is empty. it’s _empty_. right? jackson ignores the niggling to peek out at their surroundings to make sure that they really are alone. her narrowed eyes focus on the two of them once more and she huffs, jerking her head back. “come on. you can’t stay here. not in broad daylight, not like this.”

when neither of them make a move, she sends them an exasperated expression. “ _come on!_ ”

it might be a bad idea — scratch that, it’s probably a very bad idea — but jackson slowly uncurls his wings and moves to stand. logically speaking, trusting a complete stranger enough to follow them somewhere when no immediate danger lies ahead is probably a very dumb idea. he folds his wings behind his back and grasps kunpimook’s arm, dragging the water spirit up onto his feet. the woman looks slightly pleased with them and makes a gesture with her hand before whirling around on her feet and marching down the way she’d come.

the two boys share a look before they walk after her. jackson’s grip moves from the spirit’s upper arm down to his wrist, thumb pressing into the soft skin on the inside and almost digging the nail in. it’s grounding, this ability to have someone he knows close and allows him to touch. he knows kunpimook isn’t completely okay with physical affection, and would much rather prefer one hug a month, probably, if he could get away with it. so this allowance of skin against skin makes jackson’s heart feel warm and safe.

the woman in front of them is wearing a long _dress_ , is the only way jackson can think of it. a long dress with too many skirts that flits about her legs as she marches on. he can’t see her shoes or any hint that she’s even wearing any. the only way he knows is the faint clicking of heels on the cobbled ground. the dress looks… old and worn. tattered a little around the hem, tight to her torso. it looks like something he’d see out of an old european movie. he’s not used to seeing it, yet somehow he can’t imagine the woman wearing anything else.

she keeps looking behind her, eyes flicking from one face to the other. once she even glances down at their hands but doesn’t say a word. they’ve moved away from the town square now, down several streets that keep getting narrower and narrower, until jackson’s forced to walk behind kunpimook, moving at an angle because his wings are _just_ too wide.

they reach the end of the alley only for it to be a dead end, a wooden door that looks as if it has seen better days the only thing in front of them. jackson looks to the right curiously and finds a small extension that holds nothing but what he can only assume is a bin.

“get inside,” the woman says, almost snaps, shoving the door open with her shoulder. jackson watches her move to the side, jerking her chin at kunpimook then to the inside of the house. reluctantly the two of them move through the threshold and into the house

as soon as they’re inside the building, the redheaded woman turns on them yet again. she gestures behind them, to the closed door, and now jackson can tell she has bright green eyes, a shade of green you’d only ever think cats were able to possess. the light in the home is a warm yellow, from some kind of gas lamp hanging from the ceiling.

“what were you _thinking_!?” she runs a hand through her hair, which kunpimook can’t help but think must be a bad idea when the tangles of curls get stuck around her fingers. essentially, she almost loses her hand in it. “do you have any idea how dangerous it is out there!?” they continue to stare with wide eyes and she huffs, crossing her arms over her chest. “can either of you speak english, anyway?”

jackson sounds a lot less confident than normal, and it doesn’t vary when kunpimook wraps thin fingers around his wrist this time, pressing against warm skin under the sleeve of his bomber jacket. there’s a moment where he panics, thinks his accent is too thick, thinks he won’t pronounce properly, but he forces his lips to move. “yes… yes, we can.”

“good. good!” she then gestures at them in turn, brow still pulled into a frown. “then why are you standing there like a pair of lemons? do you not know the idiocy you just committed?”

“pair of—”

“we don’t know where we are,” jackson cuts kunpimook off, the spirit looking more than a little lost on the saying. his eyes are slowly unfocusing, most likely wandering down paths in his mind to figure out what _standing like a lemon_ means. the woman looks them over, eyes narrowing a fraction. “we didn’t really have a say on— on where we were going.”

she says nothing, squinting a little more. her eyes move from their faces to their clothes, that stand out way too much against her own, against the surroundings. jackson shoots a brief look as to where they are and finds the three of them standing in the middle of a kitchen, no more than a foot away from a thick and uneven dining table. everything here has a sense of age to it, even if it looks shiny and new. it’s not what jackson is used to seeing, what kunpimook could consider home. it sets off the worrying voice in the back of his head.

“so,” the woman speaks, forcing the two men to look at her, backs straightening, “you’re telling me that you arrived here without knowing so?”

“yes,” kunpimook replies this time, still looking a little pale.

she hums, foot tapping loudly against the floor. jackson wishes he knew what that meant, wish that for once his ease at talking to new people wouldn’t falter him now. he doesn’t like this ‘not knowing’ business with people. it puts him on edge.

“that would explain your clothes,” she mutters, as if to herself, voice quiet. frown deepening, she holds up a palm to them and without a word leaves the room.

kunpimook turns his head to stare at the side of jackson’s face as soon as she’s out of sight. the spirit chews on the inside of his cheek uneasily and presses his nails into jackson’s wrist. the crow winces a little but says nothing, because he understands. the two of them aren’t at ease here, he doesn’t know if they can be, because _what’s happening?_ he continues to stare at the empty doorway where the woman was standing; he doesn’t know where else to look.

the spirit shifts his grip on his wrist to push it down and grasp his friend’s hand, giving something akin to a tug on it. “jackson-hyung,” he murmurs, the korean sounding oddly calming despite the little english the two of them have heard and spoken. “jackson-hyung, what’s happened?”

jackson, honestly, doesn’t want to answer him. it’s a first, something that catches him off-guard, and he can feel the guilt bubbling up inside him. he’s never not wanted to answer something before; he’s always more than happy to give off answers to those who need them! he’s jackson! why wouldn’t he be more than happy to be of help? but with the way that kunpimook’s staring at the side of his face, eyes sharp and digging a hole into his temple, he thinks he’d feel worse if he gave his true answer.

_I don’t know._

when the woman returns with a young man, jackson lets out a deep breath of relief.

the young man eases his arm out of the woman’s grip and lazily rubs his fingertips over where she’d been gripping him. the movement slows until it stops completely when he raises his head and gazes at jackson and kunpimook. he’s nothing like her; tall, dark, sharper features, a rectangular face. there’s nothing about him that screams english — because, realistically speaking, jackson can’t think of anywhere else for them to _be_ — and it’s somehow comforting.

“oh,” is all he says.

kunpimook moves ever so slightly closer to jackson, pushing their linked hands behind them and out of sight, thumb rubbing over the crow’s knuckles. whether it’s to keep the man calm or himself, jackson truly doesn’t know. but he allows it; allows it because the spirit lets him interlock their fingers and suddenly he can breathe easy. the water spirit skims his eyes over the two strangers, trying not to look menacing when he feels his eyes narrow and his shoulders set.

“see what I mean?” the woman says, not even trying to keep her voice down. she crosses her arms over her chest and takes a step back from the man, eyes snapping between the three men in the room impatiently.

“well I do now,” the man mutters. his voice is deep and soft, something that jackson thinks could possibly have been calming and nice to listen to under any other circumstance. he looks thoughtful, brows drawn together but not in a _frown_. there’s something about his features that make jackson think the man doesn’t frown at all in his life. “I haven’t seen them before, either.”

the woman gives him a look as if to say _I told you so_ , and proceeds to exclaim, “they just materialised out of thin air! without a care in the world, wings on display.” her shoulders had bunched up under her ears, body leaning forward. she’s so animated, kunpimook’s reminded just a little of their group of friends and the discussions that would end up with someone gesturing too wildly and three people in danger of losing eyes. “it’s almost like they don’t know.”

the man lets his gaze rest on the woman for a moment, and jackson can see the cogs working in his mind. he takes his time to speak, and even when he does, the words don’t tumble out of his mouth. they’re sluggish, his accent thick, at times indistinguishable and jackson wishes there was an option to squint his ears to hear better. “what do you want to do with them?”

the anxious feelings from before curl inside the crow and he wants to step forward but kunpimook impedes any kind of movement towards the strangers. “um,” he speaks up instead, three sets of eyes looking at him. “we can just— leave. we don’t want trouble.”

“tough shit,” the woman says without batting an eye, shoulders slowly lowering from her ears into a more relaxed position. they slant down just a little bit, “you’re already in it.”

“avi, don’t be mean,” the man frowns, gently smacking her upper arm. she just huffs and leaves again, boots clacking against the wooden floor. the idea of not taking their shoes off as soon as they entered the house feels _weird_ to jackson, after doing it for so many years. the man turns back to them and leans his hip against the kitchen table. “did you really not know you were coming here?”

kunpimook swallows and his eyes ease up from their squinting, more out of irritation than actual trust. jackson says, “no.”

the man looks mildly amused. there’s a curl to his lips, to the corners, that make him look like he’s always on the brink of smiling. the crow wonders if it ever proves to be a burden. “and you don’t know what you’re doing here?”

“we—”

“we got in trouble with a witch,” kunpimook jumps in, and although his english is a little stilted still, a little slower than jackson’s because he still isn’t used to speaking it, he’s _good_. “and next thing I know, a friend of mine is being forced into some kind of ritual, or something, and then I’m stuck with other friends in a fairy forest and now we’re here.”

jackson squeezes his friend’s hand as he looks over at the stranger, scanning that pull to his brows that means he’s thinking but not _angry_. the crow thinks that maybe there’s a little more to their situation than they know, because he’s pretty sure the man’s not focusing on them any more. “I see.”

“where—” he hesitates, chewing on the inside of his cheek and gently grinding it around between his teeth. he rubs calloused fingertips along kunpimook’s palm to calm himself as he tries again, “where are we?”

the man focuses again, on them, and shakes his head. his hair is a little shaggy, curling around the tips of his ears, and it shifts with the movement of his head. “it’s better if you don’t know, I think.”

jackson stares at him, this close to gaping, quite honestly, “you think?”

“what—” kunpimook tries, sounding the most confused jackson’s ever seen him.

the woman comes back with materials folded in her hands. the two friends stand still as she elbows her way past the man and dumps the contents of her arms on the table. resting her hands close to the edge, she looks up at them from behind loose curls and fair lashes. there’s a slight bend to her nose that doesn’t look like she was born with it, jackson notices, and quickly redirects his gaze to the bundle of materials on the table when she tilts her head.

“you can’t be wearing those clothes if you’re going to be living here,” she says, as if in explanation, and stands up straight. “you can borrow material these for now, okay?”

jackson realises, then, that it’s not just random materials that he’s staring at, but _clothes_. clothes that she expects them to wear. clothes that they’re supposed to wear without questioning twice, probably, and he doesn’t know if he can do that, really. there’s a lot of supposed blind trust going about in front of him, and it makes something beneath his skin itch.

“I— what?” kunpimook says, face crumpling in confusion.

“you don’t fit in dressed as you are now,” she says slowly. kunpimook’s frown turns from confusion to something like irritation at the idea of being spoken to like he’s a child. a smack to her back makes her start and glare over her shoulder at the man.

“I think it’s about time you went and checked on the others, don’t you?”

it’s not a question, the spirit notes, not a true question, when the woman stares for several seconds before turning around and marching out of the kitchen yet again. the man watches her go and then sighs and shakes his head. he smiles at them and there’s no indication that it’s anything but a _smile_. jackson thinks it might have been offered as a way to calm their nerves, and a small part of him is upset for the man that it’s not working.

“even though she wasn’t very nice about it, I’m afraid she’s right,” the man says with a sheepish smile now, gesturing to the clothes on the kitchen table. “you’re going to need to change your clothes.”

kunpimook flicks his eyes from the man to the clothes, then back again. “you’ve told us practically _nothing_. how are we supposed to trust you?”

the man stands still, and it’s almost a little too unnerving, the way he just freezes up. brief memories of yugyeom acting inhuman shocks both jackson and kunpimook to the core. it’s so easy to forget people aren’t human when that’s all you see for so long. it has jackson eyeing the man warily and kunpimook squinting in an attempt to find something that would give away any secrets the man holds close; if he has any.

“alright,” the man says. jackson watches him with eyes like a hawk as he picks up the clothes and hugs them close to his own chest, making sure they don’t fall to the ground. he jerks his head towards the doorway that the woman had disappeared through not even a minute ago. “please follow me.”

the man takes a step back, eyes on them. jackson risks looking at the water spirit’s face, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he does so. of course, he’s always been a little more trusting than he should be, a little more open, a little too nice. and he’s considering willingly following this man without a single thought. if he was on his own, he’d already be in the clothes they’re offering, he’s sure. but he’s not here alone, he has one of his closest friends here with him. a friend that, against first impressions, doesn’t always run with impulse.

the spirit turns his head slightly and returns jackson’s gaze. though the crow’s mind is preoccupied with the idea that, yes, they’re somewhere they don’t know, in a stranger’s house, with little to no indication that the rest of their friends are close, the thoughts of _I’m staring at a_ **_human face_ ** bubble up to the surface. an appreciation and love towards mark and jinyoung bubbles in the bottom of his stomach when he spies kunpimook’s individual pores and lashes, the small specks of colour in his eyes that makes everything about him look so _normal_.

“please?”

jackson almost jumps out of his skin when the man breaks the silence. he’s looking apologetic again, but there isn’t the hint of a smile on his face. his eyes dart back and forth between the two of them, and jackson nods quickly without thinking, taking a step forward.

 

 

 

 

ottavia — or the redhead woman that had found them in the square — dumps mugs down on the coffee table in front of them before shooing a young girl out of the way. jackson’s eyes fall to the young girl, watching the way she moves out of ottavia’s way but refuses to leave the room, standing against the wall and tugging on her plaits. her face and arms are splattered in freckles and moles. it’s endearing, almost.

jackson blinks when an elbow is jutted sharply into his side. he shoots kunpimook a questioning look, who just sighs in turn and rubs at his jaw. ottavia sits in an armchair, sprawling out against it and leaning back. the movement is so— jackson doesn’t have a word for it, can only look at the way her legs sprawl out and boots peek out from under her skirts. there’s something not quite right about her acting like that in this— in this _setting_. whatever this setting is. it feels old.

“are you going to tell us who you are, then?” she asks.

kunpimook’s fingers drop from his jaw to trace the ribbon of his choker, fingertips curling around the charm that still sits at the base of his throat. the comfort it sends through him is immediate and noticeable; the tense line of his shoulders melts and his fingers slowly uncurl from where his fist had been pressed against his thigh.

“I’m jackson,” the crow introduces. his wings flutter, nervous, jittery, and the little girl watches them with her lips parted. her buck teeth just about peek into view. “and this is bambam.”

ottavia’s eyebrows raise high, eyes staring at the water spirit. “bambam.”

“it’s a nickname,” the spirit says quickly, curling his fingers around his charm completely. he stares back at her and jackson wonders where this sudden influx of confidence came from. “so is jackson.”

she snaps her focus to jackson this time but says nothing. for a brief moment, she presses her lips together in a faint line, the red paling, until she shifts in her chair. she moves no closer to the edge, but her back is straighter, her head is higher up. jackson can’t help but think that she’s more serious now than she was before. “you don’t want to give out your real names. good.”

both the crow and the spirit blink and look at each other without bothering to hide the fact that it surprises them. she seems unaffected by their surprise, and instead follows up with, “tell me where you live.”

“what?”

she doesn’t bat an eyelid. “tell me where you live.”

kunpimook frowns, narrowing his eyes at her. “why?”

the man comes in again — _emilio_ ; they’ve learnt his name — and stops mere feet inside when he takes note of the atmosphere. he raises an eyebrow at ottavia and strides the rest of the way into the room, sitting in the other armchair available. jackson watches him put his mug down on the coffee table, already half-empty.

“well?” ottavia asks, lazily looking from the crow to the spirit and back again.

emilio doesn’t sit back in the chair. he chooses to lean forward a little instead, resting his elbows on the arms so he can scratch his neck, play with his clothes, rest his chin in his palm. his eyes widen and eyebrows raise at the sight of the little girl behind ottavia’s chair, but he doesn’t address her presence, and instead returns to the conversation.

“well what?”

kunpimook runs his thumb in circles over the charm and breathes a little too heavily out of his nose. “she wants us to tell her about where we live.”

“oh,” emilio says, and he looks over at ottavia once more. with a sigh, he shakes his head. “I’m guessing she’s explained nothing?”

“that’s your job,” she grumbles.

the man wets his lips and scratches the back of his neck before dropping both of his hands in his lap. “we all know that you’re not from around here,” he says, taking the time to look at both friends during his speech in turn. it’s calmer, more controlled than ottavia’s constant switching. it puts jackson to ease, a little. “we all know that you’re probably not even from this time, and that you don’t want to stay here. we’ve taken it as a job to help people like that, people who come from elsewhere and land here.”

jackson keeps his face as impassive as he can. he wants to give as little away as possible, but he knows he lives with his heart on his sleeve. he understands that he has little control over it, over how deeply he’s affected by things, but he’s _trying_ . because kunpimook is so good at it, at keeping the slight downturn to his lips his place, to make his eyes look like they’re doing nothing but _seeing_.

“do you get a lot of people?” jackson blurts out, gaze strong under emilio’s surprised look.

“like you?” he asks and jackson nods. “we’ve gotten our fair share, I suppose. enough that it doesn’t surprise us anymore.”

ottavia stands abruptly and whirls around her chair, narrowly missing knocking over anything sat atop the coffee table with her skirts. she reaches out a hand towards the little girl who takes it without hesitance and allows herself to be lead out of the room. jackson and kunpimook watch them leave, mere seconds of pause in the conversation before they return to emilio’s patiently waiting face.

“and why do you want to know where we live?” kunpimook asks, finally dropping his hand from his choker and shifting on the sofa until he’s more comfortable, subtly leaning against jackson.

“it would help us to get an idea on how to get you back,” emilio offers, but it sounds more like a question, and he sighs when neither of them offer him any kind of information. “look, it helps us gather where you came from, what shocks you might have if we’ve met someone from your world before, and how best to help get you back to wherever it is you call home.”

kunpimook turns his head and gazes at jackson’s face. the crow doesn’t return the look, instead keeps his gaze on emilio, still as passive as he can manage it. he’s a good actor, he can do this. maybe.

pursing his lips, the crow plays with the inseam of his jeans for a moment and lets his gaze wander over the coffee table. there are too many stains on it to deem them all from coffee. “why was…. is ott—” he chokes on her name, frown slipping a little onto his face; emilio just nods in understanding. “why is she angry with us?”

the young man gazes upon jackson, then his wings, and finally lingers his attention on kunpimook’s choker. fidgeting in his seat until he sits in a more comfortable position, he scratches at his neck. “I don’t know about where you came from, and I won’t know until you tell me, but here, being anything other than human is not accepted, as I’ve said.”

immediately, the two friends’ expressions crumple into something along anger, confusion and irritation. because this is different than just having people use slurs. because this is different than being said that there are groups that allow them to be this way. because this makes it final, makes it known that it’s not just public opinion, that it might be affected by something bigger and more important. it makes jackson think of how their own world had been maybe sixty, seventy years ago, when being human was still considered the only valuable form of life. it still made his skin crawl that just because he had wings, just because kunpimook technically had never been alive, they could be discriminated against and considered lesser beings. the idea that this still exists in other places forces kunpimook to scratch at his thighs as subtly as he can manage and jackson to curl his fingers into fists.

“and because it isn’t accepted, being blatant about what makes you different could get you killed,” emilio says without stuttering, boldly trying to capture their gazes. “it would make the community of inhuman people much more difficult to hide and exist than it already is.”

“so, what?” kunpimook says, and there’s an edge to his voice that has jackson caught off-guard, staring at him without subtlety. “you want to keep us hidden away until we go home because we’re a little different?”

emilio stares at him openly. “would you believe me if I said we wanted to keep you safe?”

the water spirit stops scratching at his thighs and snaps his focus away from emilio, to the empty fireplace just to the left of him. normally, in stories such as these that he’s read, the characters in his position are distrusting and run from the idea of being walked through rules, generally making things worse before they finally run back with their tails between their legs. it would be a stupid move on their part to wander around the town without any idea of how it works.

jackson looks to be thinking along the same lines, eyes unfocused and fists loosening. it’s not often that kunpimook manages to find him lost in thought, if only because the man tends to keep it to the moments where he’s alone. jackson tries his hardest to keep on top of everybody else’s needs, his mind not straying past what’s right in front of him, normally.

“I can give you two some time to talk, if you want.”

the spirit and the crow stare at emilio as he eases himself out of the chair with a smile. it’s soft, closed lipped and unassuming. as soon as the man makes his way out of the room, kunpimook’s back curves where he sits and jackson slumps back as much as he can against the back of the sofa.

“what… we can’t stay here, bambam-ah,” jackson mutters.

kunpimook hangs his head, strands of hair falling into his line of sight. he rubs at his face then presses his fingertips against the inner corners of his eyes. “what else are we supposed to do, hyung? you know how well characters do when they stray from this in books and films.”

“that’s fictional,” he tries.

“jackson-hyung.” he lifts his head enough to stare at his friend, and he looks so small, his wings curving in on himself. there’s a lost expression moving in on his face, forcing something to lurch in kunpimook’s chest. he reaches out with a hand to grasp one of jackson’s. “what hope do you think we have of surviving out there if we don’t, at least, get inside information on how this world works?”

they share stares, nothing said, but then jackson’s closing his eyes with a sigh and kunpimook’s squeezing his hand softly.

 

 

 

 

kunpimook and jackson’s friendship was an early set one. the two of them were constantly in awe of each other’s abilities, often times meddling around in an attempt to figure out how far they could mix the two of them together until one of them encountered some kind of problem. normally, it ended in the two of them being caught red handed by somebody else and having to explain to an incredulous expression why this was indeed a good idea, or the two of them collapsed against each other in a fit of giggles.

as they grew, so did the type of friendship they had. it turned into kunpimook asking deeper questions about life outside the lake and jackson caring more and more for him; it turned into late night jokes and tempting jackson into the water so kunpimook could show him tricks he’d learnt under the surface; it became jackson flying places and bringing back souvenirs for the water spirit, telling what he could remember of the story behind the item he held between his hands.

they were often joined by yugyeom or youngjae, occasionally mark, which then turned the conversations they shared into ones filled with inside jokes they continued building on until the others were left with completely blank faces whenever one of them so much as referenced the inside joke with a single word.

don’t get them wrong; they loved each of their friends. a lot. but there was something that drew the two of them together, whether it was the nature of the goofiness they shared or how neither of them needed to think too hard about what they said before they said it. jackson and kunpimook’s friendship was easy, because they knew that unless they _asked_ for it, the analysis of their words wouldn’t randomly bubble up.

they had their moments of being deep, but the impulsive need to just go with the flow, to transform every situation into one they could enjoy together with laughter or smiles, always outweighed them. and maybe that’s just how the two of them were supposed to work together.

 

 

 

 

kunpimook offers a small smile to the young girl across the counter. she doesn’t return it, instead snatches up her change and power-walks out of the shop. as soon as the door closes loudly behind her, the spirit drops his smile and sighs.

there aren’t many people in the shop at this time of the afternoon. but even then, there isn’t an overly large flux of people coming and going on a busy day. kunpimook is surprised the shop has managed to stay up and running for so long; little trinkets and knick-knacks litter the displays, made from wood or glass, occasionally from small bits of metal that they melded together. to his eye, they’re small bits that catch his attention and make him wonder about the nature behind them. a little further down the shop, on the other side of a curtain, lies a repair shop for torn clothes.

leaning his elbow on the counter and chin in his hand, he reaches out to play with a small little glass angel, running his thumb gently over the front of the figure. delicately made, there’s details in the wings, the face, the dress that he hasn’t seen replicated in any other person’s work.

the shop is run by emilio and ottavia and is filled with workers who aren’t human. he’d already met a shy pixie whose dark skin would flush darker whenever he offered her a smile and had heard of a rather vain mermaid who would offer pretty shells for even prettier gifts with a sly smile and batting of her lashes. there wasn’t much he could say about working there. emilio had offered him a place the morning after he and jackson had suddenly turned up, to which he had backed up the statement of people tending to go stir crazy if they don’t have anything to do while visiting and also that, even though he had turned up out of the blue and most people wouldn’t care, he wasn’t aware enough of the customs to pull off any other kind of job.

the sound of the bell above the door going off makes him look up. a small group of people have entered so he straightens himself up and places the angel back on the counter. he places his usual small smile on his face and nods at them, making them jump when he greets them with a simple, “afternoon.”

it still feels uncomfortable when the people of the town stare at him, gazing over his face and taking in how _non-english_ he looks. emilio had told them a little about the city when they’d agreed to stay and one of the things he’d told them was that they were, indeed, in england. and because of that, he’d warned them about the blatant racism that showed after revealing both the year and the town they’d dropped into. it itches under his skin that he’s going to be so discriminated because he’s _thai_ on top of not being _human_. not that any of the group that are trying to be discreet — and failing — in staring at him know anything about the latter.

it has been two weeks of working at this shop, of falling into a routine of getting stared at while working, staying in the shop for most of the morning and all of the afternoon, and he’s slowly getting tired of it. because both him and jackson are still too wary to let out too much about where they came from. because both him and jackson have been told that fate rules over them here, that if they want anything to happen they have to wait for destiny to decide when it happens.

so he decides, fuck it, and winks when he next spies them staring at him.

laughter bubbles up behind his lips when the girls whip around and the boys stare defiantly behind him except for one — the scariest looking of the bunch, with tight clothes, muscles and stature that kunpimook really doesn’t have — who flushes immediately and stares at his shoes in alarm. turning around, the spirit passes through the door into the backroom and clasps a hand around his mouth so his laughter isn’t too loud when he can’t hold it in anymore.

emilio raises his head from where he’s curled over his newest creation, and raises an eyebrow at him after gazing at his face. “what’s got you all giggly?”

when kunpimook drags his hand away, his smile is wide and full of teeth. “just customers. nothing bad, I promise,” he adds quickly with a more lopsided grin and wink. he takes a deep breath and walks through the doorway again, smile void of his face.

he’s busying himself with making more room behind the counter, shifting boxes of things about and trying to balance stuff together so none of them trip over it when they’re in a rush, as has happened so many times in the past, when there’s a knock on the top of the counter. slowly he rises enough to spy over the top and let his eyes rest on who’s asking for his attention. the group of friends look a little embarrassed at having gotten his attention.

“yes?” he asks, standing up and smoothing his palms over his clothes.

“we, uh, we’d like these?” a girl asks more than says, raising several little knick-knacks in her hands. his eyes flit between them and the other objects a man behind her holds up.

“of course, of course.” with a gesture of his hands, he shifts to the till and takes each item in hand, checking the tags that emilio puts on everything. he’s ringing up the amount they owe, not totally blinded to the way the embarrassed man from before refuses to look at him and one girl is muttering into the ear of the other guy, her eyes on him.

with a smile worthy of something far more feline that he is, he bags their purchases and announces the price. his eyes flicker from the purse of the girl who’s paying to the people around her, letting his eyes linger on the embarrassed man and feeling amusement and maybe just a little bit of pride swelling in his chest when he notes the red hue that decorates his cheeks and neck.

the group leave the shop as soon as the change touches their friend’s hand and when the door closes, kunpimook allows himself to grin, all teeth and stretched lips and amusement. he knows that people generally are fun to mess with, but he’d never truly appreciated it till now.

he thinks that, just maybe, he’ll have to do it more often.

 

 

 

 

jackson sits on the bed, legs dangling over the edge, and stares at the floor.

there’s something about the pull to his face, how blank it is but also not, how there’s emotion lying beneath it that the water spirit can’t seem to decipher, that stops him short in his route to the desk in their shared bedroom. he runs his gaze over jackson’s form, over the slump to his shoulders and the droop to his wings, and he wonders how he couldn’t have noticed that his friend feels so exhausted.

“hyung?” he mutters quietly, finally stepping further into the bedroom and closing the door quietly behind him. his eyes don’t leave his friend, searching for any type of movement, but when he gets none, he shuffles over to place his boots down under the desk. he pads over, carefully, to stand just in front of the crow, so he’s staring at kunpimook’s socked feet instead of the floor. “hyung?”

jackson blinks and takes in a deep breath, chest expanding and tongue darting out to wet dry lips. it’s almost as if he’d lost himself, lost where he was. it’s the only way the spirit can explain the look he gives him when he finally tilts his head up. “bambam?”

he tugs at his jacket a little, thinking, then decides to shrug it off his shoulders, chucking it in the general direction of the desk chair. “are you okay, hyung?”

dark eyes stare at him, seeing past him for a moment before focusing. kunpimook already knows what’s coming, so he sits down with a bounce next to jackson, and scoots back until his feet are dangling at the same height.

“don’t lie to me.”

the crow rubs his face and presses his fingertips into the corner of his eyes. he breathes in deeply, again, and kunpimook stares at the side of his face with rapt attention. “a month.”

he stays quiet, watching jackson let his hands fall to his lap, back still bowed and shoulders slumped.

“it’s been a month since we landed here— and what have we done? you’ve gotten yourself a job, I’m telling ottavia and emilio and their little gang about the species they don’t have here. you’ve gotten yourself a life and I’m stuck inside because I have fucking wings but what have we _done_!?”

kunpimook’s eyes are wide now, wider than usual, his jaw slack and mouth open in the smallest ‘o’. subconsciously, his fingers curl against his thighs into loose fists to ignore the desire to touch his friend in any way.

“we’ve not done anything for ourselves!” jackson continues, and even though he isn’t shouting, he isn’t raising his voice, there’s a finality and a sharpness to it that makes kunpimook feel as if he is. “we still don’t know where mark or jaebum or the rest of them are! we have no way of finding out because of some bullshit faith— we haven’t done _anything_ , bambam-ah!”

the spirit breathes. he breathes and he touches the pendant against his collarbones.

jackson’s wings twitch and fidget, loose feathers landing on the bed, on kunpimook’s lap, in his hair. “we’re stuck here! we’re fucking stuck here because we don’t even know her name. we can’t tell them who did this to us because we don’t fucking know! the only person who has any fucking idea what’s going on with us was part of a god damn ritual that you managed to watch but saw nothing of!”

the muscles under the crow’s skin are tense, ready to spring or coil or lash out. kunpimook doesn’t feel at ease for the first time sitting next to jackson, doesn’t feel the usual sense of relief that floods his veins when he spies the man he could consider his best friend. or one of them.

he wonders how long this has been bottled up for.

there’s a very dull smack as jackson lets his head fall into his hands, heaving yet another sigh and pushing the butts of his hands into his eyes. kunpimook thinks it hurts — scratch that, he _knows_ it hurts —, so he’s cautious but determined when he reaches out and very gently runs his fingers through knotted locks. he ignores the feeling they leave on his fingers, not having been washed for days, and instead focuses on making the crow feel better.

it’s quiet for a long time after that, because kunpimook knows he’s right. they’ve been here for a while — too long, if they’re thinking about how urgent it had been when they first arrived. there’s no new news about their friends or even about the witch, and although kunpimook has tried his best not to dwell too much on it, he knows jackson’s right, and this idea of not really doing anything, of just sitting here and living a life that shouldn’t really be theirs, is not helping them in any way.

“we’ll…. we’ll do something soon, yeah?” the spirit tries, pulling his friend closer until jackson’s curled up against his chest. it’s a little awkward, with them being the same height, and the crow’s wings not allowing for the best hold, but it’ll do. “we’ll talk more to emilio and ottavia, and we’ll find out a way to make this all go a lot quicker, okay?”

jackson doesn’t say anything, and kunpimook can’t see his face, but he takes the nod as a good sign.

 

 

 

 

stephanie — the little girl from the first night with freckles smothering her skin — has flour up to her elbows and little bits of dough stuck to her fingers and the back of her hands. her buck teeth are digging into the flesh of her tongue as it sticks out in concentration, a small furrow to her brow as she tries her best to follow the recipe.

“does your brother cook a lot?” jackson asks. he’s stood a few feet away from her, peeling apples and cutting them as thinly as he can.

stephanie huffs a little in an attempt to get a small strand of hair away from her face. “ _non, maman_ cooks a lot, but she’s getting old. kyros insisted on helping out a few months ago. now they’re making recipes of their own.”

the crow just nods, humming to himself.

he doesn’t know if it has anything to do with kunpimook, the fact that the inhabitants of the house they’re staying in are slowly beginning to include him more actively in chores around the house. it isn’t exactly a secret that over the first month he’d gotten stir crazy from staring at the same walls again and again, wandering through the same rooms in order to try and alleviate some of the boredom. he refused to go out, even during the night, when he’d witnessed what had happened to the pixie kunpimook works with once, coming home in a condition that left her bedridden for a week.

honestly, it started with the small group of kids that filter in and out of the house, all of them having come together because of stephanie and her fascination with jackson’s wings. she’d ask question after question about them, not deterred by his lack of answers. some of them were part of the imagination only a child could have, uninhibited and completely stuck in awe. soon enough, the kids were tugging him all over the house and asking him to play with them, tell them stories, help them when chores bored them to the point of whining.

and he has a weakness for kids, he really does, so he jumped in without putting too much of a fight. there must have been some gushing from the children’s part to their parents, because next thing he knew, he was being taught how to do numerous chores around the house with sheepish smiles in an effort to keep him entertained.

and that’s how he and stephanie come to gently putting the yet-to-be baked good in the oven, slumping down in chairs at the dining table, two months later, give or take. jackson made sure that the two of them cleaned up as they baked, and although the kitchen is now spotless, it left a small ache in the back and heels for standing up for so long.

“so,” stephanie says and she slips around in her chair to face jackson, putting her small hands on the table. “can you control air?”

the crow blinks at her, swallowing before he asks, “what?”

the little girl’s eyes are still wide and imploring, and they’re spaced just a little too far apart to the point where, if she were an artist’s creation, they’d get the feel that something wasn’t quite right but they’d never be able to put their finger on just what, exactly, needed to be changed. “can you control air?”

he really should be used to the random questions that got fired his way since stepping into this weird house, but apparently there are still things that catch him off-guard. “why would I be able to control air?”

“you can fly,” she points, as if it’s obvious. “you can control air.”

he stares at her, and it’s rude in so many worlds and etiquettes, but he can’t stop himself. how is he supposed to answer that? how did it even occur to the girl to make a connection? granted, he can see where she’s coming from. maybe. “I— I can’t control air.”

she blinks at him. her lashes are short, barely brush over her cheeks. “of course you can. everyone who flies can.”

the denial is on the tip of his tongue, ready to tell her yet again that it’s not the case, but she stands abruptly. he blinks, again, and watches as she walks around the table to stand in front of him. with a press of a freckled hand to his shoulder, she stares him dead in the eye.

“you can control air.”

jackson stares wide-eyed and just this side of slack-jawed as she squeezes his shoulder and presses her lips into what can only be described as a pitying smile, then leaves without much else of a word. it takes a small effort to twist in his seat so he can gaze at her retreating back for the few seconds before she turns the corner and disappears completely.

 

 

 

 

to say that jackson spends the next week or so thinking about what stephanie said to him would be an understatement.

several times kunpimook asked him if he was okay, if being in the house was getting to him, if they should find a way to get him out of the house under the cover of nightfall so he could stretch his legs — and wings. jackson just smiled and told kunpimook not to worry about him, that he would get over it. and he honestly thought he would. until it becomes a thought that doesn’t leave him alone. why does stephanie think that just because he can fly he can control air?

kunpimook continues to go to work, bringing home stories every other day about customers, or creations or his fellow workers. and jackson listens, because it’s becoming his only touch with the outside world. the chores keep him busy enough for him not to dwell too much on the fact that he can’t leave the house, but at night he feels the walls closing in, thinks he might be becoming one with the wall, the floor, that one seat in the kitchen. it’s times like this that he grabs kunpimook and forces the spirit to curl up with him in bed. as a reminder, of sorts, that he’s still autonomous and _there_.

so, when kunpimook asks for the eighth time, possibly, if he wants them to ask emilio and ottavia for a place he can go to at night that will allow him to breathe fresh air, he agrees.

the field they go to is a wide open space, far away from the inner town and the houses with inhabitants. emilio stands under a tree, cloak they used to hide jackson’s wings in his arms as he leans against the bark. jackson himself is wandering further and further into out into the field, feeling his wings stretch and spread out either side of him without conscious thought. he doesn’t stop them, doesn’t think at all that maybe he should be cautious, because he doesn’t need to be.

he tilts his head back and lets his eyes move from star to star in the night sky. he doesn’t remember the last time he saw the stars so clearly; streetlamps and pollution made it far too difficult back home. but here, in the era the town seemed to be stuck in, the stars were living and breathing and— here he was, watching them, basking in them.

the air is cold, colder when he starts running, colder still when he leaps and his wings flap, bringing him further and further away from the earth until he’s swooping through the air, making huge loops in the sky, spiralling and turning and twisting, forcing himself as high up into the night sky as he possibly can without the fear of being seen only to wrap his wings around his body, closing his eyes briefly before he _dives_ , plummeting towards the earth at a terrifying speed. he cracks his eyes open, watching the ground, not paying attention to anything else other than how free he feels, how much like himself.

his wings snap out to his sides just in time, catching the wind and angle, swooping him inches from the ground and then back into the air once more. it’s liberating and captivating, doing this, _flying_. he didn’t realise he could miss something so much, something he did everyday back home, something that made him exhausted because his job required it.

he doesn’t know how long he’s flying before he drops down and jogs over to emilio, sitting next to the man on the cloak underneath the massive tree. he’s breathing harshly, throat dry and cracking and it hurts, but it’s so worth it.

“you can come here every night, if you like,” emilio says quietly. jackson nods.

he doesn’t need to whisper, but jackson appreciates it. truly, he does. because the world around them is so quiet and still, so unperturbed and completely stuck in the middle of nowhere, that the idea of speaking aloud at even a normal tone could break it; shatter it beyond recognition. it’s a silly thought, probably, thinking that something like this could be breakable, but it refuses to leave jackson’s mind.

jackson licks his lips — which makes little to no difference, considering how dry his mouth is — and drops his eyes from the stars to stare at emilio’s face. “what are you?”

emilio blinks, and it’s dark, but jackson can see the confusion on his face. “what am I?”

“are you human?”

“yes.”

“oh.”

the crow turns away and looks back at the sky. it’s not black — the night sky is never black — but he can’t quite put his finger on what colour it is. indigo? violet? maroon? the colour is so deep, he’s sure he could drown in it. a part of him, the part of his heart that no doubtedly belongs to the bird in him, wants to drown in it.

“what makes you ask?” emilio murmurs, tilting his head ever so slightly closer to jackson.

“I wanted to know why you’re helping me and bambam,” he replies without missing a beat. hands pressed into the ground behind him, he leans back and stretches his wings out either side of him before letting them slump against the grass.

“ah.” the portuguese man picks at his sleeve and looks out before them. he doesn’t look up at the sky like jackson, but instead just stares out at the field. “we have friends who aren’t human. we’ve been helping them and living with them and they just… attract. others.” he pauses for a moment, and jackson swears he can hear a smile. “there’s now a small community, and we help them live. it’s— rewarding. and our friends have never been happier.”

the crow nods before he can think too much on it. he inhales deeply, holding the breath in his lungs, and then lets it out in as controlled a manner as he can manage. “what are they? your friends?”

emilio takes a moment to let the two of them lose themselves in the sudden sound of crickets and cicadas that carries on in the breeze; the dampness beneath them bubbling up gently from the earth, the feeling of not being watched, not needing to be careful. it’s weird, being out in the middle of nowhere and not needing to worry about whether or not someone with a car will suddenly come out of nowhere. jackson feels like he’s dreaming, like the past three or so months haven’t been real.

“my friends… well.” emilio smiles again; jackson can hear the soft edges in his voice. “they’re a witch’s son and a black hole pretending to be a star.”

jackson turns his head and stares at emilio’s profile.

 

 

 

 

the little nightly expeditions out to the field become almost a regular thing. it starts off as every other day, maybe every three days if jackson can’t find an escort, until the crow knows the way like the back of his hand. he even makes some friends that he’ll say hello to on his nights out, insomniacs that can’t find any way to fall asleep and instead choose to wander outside their homes, god knows what going through their heads. with the help of the cloak that hides his wings, jackson has no worries about them finding out what he is. nobody asks where he goes, just like he doesn’t ask them.

on the days where emilio accompanies him, the two of them always have a small conversation after jackson’s finished flying around. it’s never anything as deep as the first night, normally just asking each other about their private lives.

jackson finds out about emilio dating ottavia, about how he teases nova about their sister loving him more than them. he hears about numerous small stories relating to non-human friends they had in the past, ones that had come over from other dimensions or universes for one reason or another. and in turn he tells emilio small things; the first time he and bambam had met, about mark and jinyoung, about the differences in acceptance between here and there.

and sometimes, kunpimook even insists on coming along, whining about not spending enough time with his best friend. those nights are always some of the best for jackson, because kunpimook refuses to stay on the ground. he clings to jackson, their legs tangled together, jackson’s arms around his waist and his around the crow’s neck, as they speed through the air. he tries to be as careful as he can, making the mistake of diving like he had the first night and having to spend the next fifteen minutes reassuring kunpimook that he wasn’t going to die.

so, instead, they go sight-seeing. they fly out as far as they dare, circling over tries, skimming water of small lakes or ponds they find, the spirit even getting brave enough to uncurl one of his arms, dipping his fingers into the water and skimming them across the surface. the ripples distort the reflection of them flying in the moonlight when it’s bright enough for them to see, and when it’s not, the crow imagines it anyway, and then thinks about how he can ask kunpimook about what stephanie said to him however long ago.

but on the days where he’s alone, jackson spends those days drifting through the air, thinking.

he flies with his back to the ground, gazing up at the stairs, he lazily swoops around trees, graceful enough to steer clear of branches, with his head in the clouds. he thinks about swirling air between his fingers, about blowing breezes with the twitch of a finger and knocking people over with a small gust of wind with a flick of his hand. to have all that power at his fingertips makes his breath stop short in his throat. he thinks that maybe he could do something, that he could make a difference, and not simply be known for flying.

so, on the days where he’s still alone, where he slips out when kunpimook is exhausted and emilio and ottavia want time alone, or simply when nobody wants to accompany him, whatever excuse, he practices. he practices and thinks about what he’d learned in school, about what he’d read in books and what he’d seen on tv or in movies. he tries so many different things that, by the end of two weeks, he feels childish and dumb, clinging to something that an actual child may have just made it.

so he doesn’t try it for the next few weeks, mind occupied on other things.

because kunpimook and him seem to be aging. their bodies are growing older far too quickly than the time they’ve been living in the town. it’s not noticeable at first, but when lines appear, or skin isn’t suddenly as tight or smooth as it used to be, it makes them think. when jackson wakes up one afternoon and looks in the mirror only to joke to himself about his older doppleganger do they begin to pay attention to it.

neither of them say anything to emilio or ottavia. they don’t know why, it just turns out this way. they freak out quietly and discuss it, once, in whispered shouts, then forget about it. they briefly entertain the idea of making something that would slow the process, but neither of them are witches, neither of them have any idea whatsoever on the first thing they’d need to do, and even so, they can’t just go out and buy a book. because witches wouldn’t be accepted here.

therefore, nights once spent acting like a child trying to control air turn to worrying about growing old too quickly, about trying to remember anything that jinyoung or mark could have told him that would help them in this situation.

when he manages to make a flower twitch because of air pressure he almost screams himself hoarse.

 

 

 

 

the little girl’s mouth is open and her eyes refuse to look away from kunpimook. she ignores the tugs her mother gives at her arm, hissing something about how rude it is to stare and how she was raised better. kunpimook raises a hand to wave and the girl waves back.

it’s not the first time something like this has happened, and he doubts it will be the last before he goes, so he just turns and continues down the road until he finds emilio and ottavia’s house, unlocking the door and stepping inside. the aging in him and jackson is becoming noticeable to those around them, now, and he’s sure the girl that was just staring at him was the same girl he’d spied with her father in emilio’s shop a couple of weeks ago.

stephanie greets him in the hallway with a smile and one of her friends clinging to her arm, a shorter girl with dark skin and even darker hair. the friend gives him a tentative smile, and he smiles back at both of them, eyes crinkling gently. he’s exhausted, but he has to show them affection, because they’re children and he has a weak spot.

he walks past them and up the stairs to his and jackson’s room. like most days, jackson is asleep on the bed in the late afternoon hour. a small smile graces kunpimook’s lips and he’s very tempted to join him, but instead he takes his boots off and gets changed into his comfiest clothes. ten minutes later, he has a sandwich on a plate that he eats while watches jackson as he sleeps, looking at the slope of his back, the slight rise and fall of his shoulder blades as he breathes, the curve of his wings as they droop in his sleep only to twitch when the tips of his feathers brush teasingly against the covers on the bed. lately, the crow has been far too, what he can only assume, stressed, and it brings calm to his soul to see him sleeping.

kunpimook makes sure he’s wiped all the crumbs from his hands and mouth onto the plate that he then puts on their desk before he crawls into bed and flops down on his side. the mattress jiggles a little and the spirit holds his breath, hoping he didn’t disrupt his friend’s sleep. when a hand reaches out clumsily for him, he lets himself be dragged into jackson’s side and closes his eyes.

“do you ever wonder about that energy?”

jackson’s voice is slurred and quiet, testament to the fact that he did, indeed, only just wake up. at least he was sleeping before kunpimook got here, and not just pretending. the spirit doesn’t open his eyes but asks, “energy?”

“you know, the one that runs through here.” jackson shifts a little until he’s half on top of kunpimook, nosing his face into the crook of the spirit’s neck. “that you can feel in you.”

kunpimook is quiet but opens his eyes to gaze up at the ceiling. he thinks he knows what jackson is talking about, but it doesn’t feel like an energy. it doesn’t feel like a charge of any kind, really. ever since they’ve gotten here, he’s always felt as if the air is a little too thick, as if it weighs just a little too much, and he’ll soon need to be swimming through it.

“you can feel it, right?” jackson mutters.

“I… I remember when we got here, there was something that felt like it was weighing on my lungs?” he tries, eyebrows raised even though his friend can’t see.

“something that wasn’t there before.” the crow nods, movement jittery and not at all as fluid as it would have been had he been more awake. “isn’t there back home.”

kunpimook breathes through his nose loudly. “right.”

the two of them lie a little more in silence. the question leaves the water spirit in confusion, mind working where it could have come from, why his friend felt the need to mention it now and not the first night the two of them arrived here, when questions about everything was falling from their lips at an alarming rate and leaving the two of them stunned when some of them actually managed to get answered rather than just left alone.

but, either way, the window is open and kunpimook can hear the birds outside, the quiet sound of the street life floating into the room, and it leads his muscles to relax once more, eyes slowly drooping. he thinks jackson has gone back to sleep, that whatever he did last night when he went to the field alone tired him out more than he thought.

but jackson just loves to prove him wrong. “you know…. stephanie asked me something. a while ago.”

the spirit forces himself not to give into the urge to sigh and instead murmurs, “what?”

he feels the tip of jackson’s tongue as the crow licks his lips and it sends a ticklish shiver over his shoulder and down his chest at a slant before disappearing. “she asked me if I could control air.”

“control air.”

“yeah.” jackson’s quiet again, but kunpimook knows better than to think that he’s decided sleep is important. so he just waits, eyes forcibly shut. if jackson wants to hide his face in his neck, then he can easily close his sight off to the rest of the world, too. “she thought that since I can fly I could control air. it’s funny how kids’ brains think, huh?”

“you say that like you think it isn’t that far-fetched an idea.”

“well… what if it wasn’t.”

kunpimook does sigh this time, big enough that his chest expands noticeably and jackson shifts until he’s lying on his side, curled ever so slightly, not longer pressing his weight onto kunpimook. instead, a hand reaches out to tug at kunpimook’s shirt, playing with a hole in the fabric. “jackson-hyung, we’re both incredibly aware of what we can and can’t do. I don’t think two decades into our lives we’re going to find out that suddenly we have all this potential we didn’t have before.”

“yeah, but we’re not home, are we?” jackson counters and kunpimook can feel his eyes on the side of his face. he doesn’t give in and look over.

“well, no—”

“so the same rules don’t apply, do they?” jackson persists, giving a small tug to kunpimook’s shirt when he slips the tip of his finger into the tear.

kunpimook licks his lips and tris, “we don’t know that—”

“bambam.” he closes his jaw with an audible snap and still refuses to look at jackson. “we’ve been here for, what, half a year already? we look like we’ve lived here three, already, do you really think anything is the same here as it is back home?”

slowly, the spirit’s eyes open to stare at the ceiling. it hasn’t changed; the cracks are still the same, that weird dirty, faded yellow staring back at him in the afternoon light. he licks dry lips and turns his head to look at his friend. it’s hard to keep his face passive, so he settles for the incredulous look that his soul is screaming at him to give.

“.... you found something,” he says.

jackson actually looks a little sheepish, “I may have managed to control a little bit of air, yes.”

“when?”

the crow blinks, locking onto kunpimook’s gaze and fingers stilling against his shirt. “when what?”

“when was the first time?” kunpimook presses, narrowing his eyes just a little.

there’s a pause and then embarrassment flushes jackson’s cheeks and he ducks his head, eyes boring more holes into the spirit’s shirt. “a… a month ago?”

“a month ago,” the spirit replies calmly. his eyes narrow further and he sits up abruptly, yanking jackson’s hands away from his shirt as he points a finger in his direction accusingly. “you kept this from me for a month!?”

“I didn’t know if it was some flux!” jackson exclaims, sitting up just as quickly and raising his hands in a defensive gesture. “if it was just my imagination! I wanted to be sure before I said anything. I—” his expression turns into something sad and worrisome, eyes softly curling downwards and it tugs at something inside kunpimook. “bambam-ah, you’re the only thing I have right now from home, and I you, so I really didn’t want you to go against me, I didn’t want you to think that I was going crazy or something.”

“because this whole conversation doesn’t sound like you’re going crazy,” kunpimook says, dropping his hand. he drops his head and scrubs at his face, sighing yet again, but doesn’t stir when he feels his friend hesitantly sit next to him.

“look, I’ll prove it.”

 

 

 

 

“is this normal?”

ottavia stares at the two of them while chewing on the inside of her cheek, eyes darting between the them as is custom to her. her brows slowly start pulling together until her eyelids are no longer visible and jackson feels something fall in his stomach, as if weighed down by an anvil, destined to make him feel as if he’s constantly about to throw up.

“please tell me it’s normal,” kunpimook says this time, eyes pleading for the first time since they’re been here. the crow thinks he’s only seconds away from clasping his hands together and falling to his knees. “please tell me you know what’s going on.”

“I’m…. afraid I don’t know what’s going on,” emilio says as he shuffles forward until he’s standing directly behind ottavia and places his hands on her hips. “I don’t really know what to tell you both.”

“we haven’t been here a year yet and I already look like I’m about to be thirty!” kunpimook exclaims, using his hands to gesture just how panicked he is, just how much he really hates this not knowing what’s happening to his own body business. “you two have hardly changed, how can that be a thing!? how can you not know what’s happening to us!?”

“this is the first time it’s happened, alright!?” ottavia snaps. jackson flinches a little but kunpimook stands his ground. the crow thinks that maybe, in another life, ottavia would be some kind of ferocious animal not to be meddled with. it’d fit her very well. “don’t just blame everything on us! we only live here, for fucksake, we’re not in control with how the world works! so stop treating us as if we do!”

the spirit narrows his eyes further, never looking away from the woman until he spins on his heels and stomps out of the room, sending stephanie and her little group of friends running for cover.

jackson would like to say that he goes after his friend and manages to calm him down enough that the four adults can sit down and discuss how it’s bothering the two of them, how it’s impeding them from feeling normal in this town, how kunpimook can’t go to work now because he looks like he’s had the job for four years and people notice. but he doesn’t. instead, he sits stares after kunpimook, then at ottavia and emilio, then at his feet.

 

 

 

 

“what do you think will happen, when we finally find our friends?”

it’s one of the nights where kunpimook decided to accompany jackson to the field for his flying, and it’s currently been three hours since they set out. the two of them are sat by a pond in the middle of somewhere, far away from the town and their friends. it’s quiet and there’s a breeze, there’s the calming sound of occasional birds and insects, but mainly there’s just an overwhelming sense of _just the two of them_.

kunpimook has taken his shoes and socks off, sticking his feet into the water while rolling the hem of his trousers up so they don’t get soaking wet. he does this from time to time, when they choose to stop at a lake. even if he has the choker around his neck with his own home’s water in the little charm, he still misses the feeling of water dearly.

“what do you mean?” the water spirit says from his perch, slowly turning his head away from the clearing of tree canopies to his friend sat next to him.

jackson hugs his knees closer to his chest, one wing curled around his form and the other stretched so it covers kunpimook’s back. neither of them mention the little quirk the crow has towards his friends. instead, kunpimook’s attention is on his friend’s face. “do you think it’ll be easy?”

kunpimook blinks, then admits truthfully, “I don’t know.”

“we won’t be able to go home just like that, will we?” the crow lifts his head and focuses his eyes on the spirit’s face. his expression is weirdly blank and unassuming, almost as if jackson is lost in thought. and maybe he is, maybe his mind is a thousand miles away and kunpimook just isn’t there yet. he, for not the first time, wonders where all this suddenly comes from.

he turns his head to look at the water and traces the outline of the moon’s reflection with his eyes lazily. “it wouldn’t appear like it.”

“we… we can’t do much,” jackson mutters and kunpimook feels his wing twitch behind him, feathers brushing against his cheek and arm. “we need to— need to learn how to protect ourselves.”

kunpimook stares at him again, neck snapping so quickly he thinks he pulls a muscle but he doesn’t want to check. his eyes are owlishly wide now and he swallows. this is very, very new territory. “are you telling me that we need to learn how to fight?”

jackson’s lips are pressed into a thin line, the determination in his brow something kunpimook can’t shake, no matter how much he tries or wants to. his friend is completely and utterly serious. “we can’t just be defenseless when they turn up! we can’t just—”

“okay, okay, we’ll—”  kunpimook chokes just a little, but grabs jackson’s hand because this— he doesn’t know where this came from, from the boy who hated fighting the most in their little group of friends. everything has been so mundane up until now, with the only weird thing being their accelerated aging. or maybe it’s not what jackson’s saying that’s getting to him, more than idea that maybe, just maybe, the seven of them are actually going to have to _fight_. “we’ll figure something out, yeah?”

 

 

 

 

now, there could be a lot of things explained about what they expect and what they don’t expect to happen during this new determination of theirs to prepare themselves for a fight they may or may not have to take part of. however, most of the details are irrelevant except for one.

one thing they never thought would happen is youngjae waiting for them at the field under the massive tree.


End file.
